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THE  ANARCHIST 


A  STORY  OF  TO-DAY 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


AUTHOR  OF 

MY  OFFICIAL  WIFE,"    "THE  LITTLE  LADY  OF  LAGUN1TAS, 

"PRINCE  SCHAMYL'S  WOOING,"  "THE  MASKED  VENUS," 

"DELILAH  OF  HARLEM,"  "THE  PASSING  SHOW," 

"FOR  LIFE  AND  LOVE." 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY 

PUBLISHER 
CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 

1894 


Copyright  1894  by 
RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


(All  Rights  Reserved) 


PREFACE 

THE  story  of  active  anarchism  is  a  chronicle  of  th 
present  time.  The  bells  ringing  out  the  nineteen! 
century  may  ring  in  a  conflict  which,  in  its  politics 
and  social  importance,  will  dwarf  every  other  issue  c 
the  day. 

Socialism  and  communism  moving  blindly  on  pai 
allel  lines  are  closely  followed  up  by  the  were-wo] 
of  nnarchy. 

This  red  propaganda  has  crossed  racial  and  nations 
dividing  lines,  and  watching  the  troubles  of  the  weake 
governments  for  propitious  moments — anarchism  ha 
emerged  from  the  shadows  of  midnight  conspirac 
and  now  fights  boldly  in  the  open! 

It  has  at  last  thrown  off  the  mask  of  years!  France 
Spain,  and  Italy  have  been  added  to  the  battlefield  c 
the  "dynamitard, "  and  the  ominous  growl  of  its  parlis 
mentary  struggle  is  heard  to-day  in  Germany,  Austric 
and  Switzerland! 

The  reigning  family  of  Russia  is  no  longer  the  onl 
proscribed  line  of  victims  of  this  modern  Vehn 
gericht. 

As  it  leaves  the  shadows,  anarchy  must  exhibit  il 
true  colors,  move  under  its  real  leaders,  and  have  a 
open  and  avowed  creed!  Any  general  movemen 
designed  to  tear  down  the  fabric  of  society  must  clas 
with  the  affairs  of  varied  classes.  It  needs  mone) 
skilled  and  plausible  emissaries,  and  must,  on  the  lin 
of  its  battle  against  society,  deal  with  the  life  c 

3 


4  PREFACE 

women — with  the  schemes  of  the  "salon"—  with  active 
political  effort  and  with  all  the  priceless  interests  it 
would  destroy. 

Its  projects  will  be  varied.  The  possible  prepara 
tory  manoeuvres  are  lightly  sketched  in  the  following 
pages.  Its  future  course  will  be  bold  and  its  vicious 
attacks  must  be  firmly  and  promptly  met. 

No  one  can  tell  now,  what  crystallized  form  of  mod 
ern  society  will  survive  the  coming  storm,  but  it  needs 
not  the  wisdom  of  the  seer  to  predict  that  the  red 
flag  of  anarchy  will  never  wave  in  triumph. 

It  will  not  fly  over  the  wreck  of  the  varied  ties  knit 
ting  together  the  whole  useful  element  of  a  world 
.unwilling  to  re-enter  the  mad  chaos  of  a  red  whirl 
pool  like  the  French  Revolution. 

The  octopus  feelers  of  an  insane  revolt  against  all 
law  which  guards  Private  Right  are  stealing  to-day 
through  every  avenue  of  human  life.  Organized  cos 
mopolitan  repression  will  be  the  stern  answer  of  the 
civilized  world  to  the  dark  creed  of  Destruction. 

-THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 
BOOK  I 

AN   AMERICAN    HEGIRA 


PAGE 

CHAPTER         I— The  Hartley  Trust — Premonition  -       9 
II— The  Play  Begins— Carl  Stein  Reads 

the  Stars  at  Sea  -     33 

III— A  Family  Conspiracy—The  Se 
cret  Council  at  Lausanne — The 
Gospel  of  Destruction  -  53 

IV-— Two   Birds  of  Prey— By  the  Ti 
ber — La  Belle  Americaine     -     -     77 


BOOK  II 

LOVE  TOOK  UP  THE  HARP  OF  LIFE 

CHAPTER        V — After      Many      Years — A       Good 

Samaritan — Stein's  Puppet  Play  104 
VI— On  the  Beautiful  Blue  Danube- 
Miss  Hartley's  Money— The  Red 
Propaganda  -  130 

VII— At  Munich— Beauford's  Adieu— 
A  Strange  Marriage — Called  Back 
—The  Dark  Angel's  Wing- 
Stein's  Summons — Count  Orbor- 
ski's  Wooing  -  151 


6  CONTENTS 

BOOK  III 

AT  CROSS  PURPOSES 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  VIII— An  Anonymous  Friend — Lord 
Beauford  goes  in  for  Diplomacy 
— The  Anarchist's  Mission — 
Drifting— Brother  Philip— Count 
Orborski's  Game  of  Solitaire  -  178 
IX — Lord  Beauford's  Dilemma- 
Judge  Wilkinson  Fox  Invites  a 
Jeremiad — A  Mother's  Hatred — 
Lady  Isabel  Sees  the  Light 
Coming  Shadows — A  Free  Field 
—The  Count  Orborski  Speaks  -  203 
X — At  Cleveland — An  Active  Citizen 
—Personal  Gossip  in  the  "Galig- 
nani" — Ventnor  Hall — Friend 
ship  Blooms  Anew  in  Sorrow — 
Unwelcome  Arrivals  at  Lausanne 
—A  Lake  Party — The  Explosion 
—  "She  is  Mine'  -  -  228 

11  XI— Baron  Von  Rheingold— In  the  Bal 

ance — At  Munich — A  Junta  of 
Wiseacres — Anarchy's  Warning 
— Evelyn's  Shadowy  Coronet — 
The  Secret  Message — An  Aston 
ished  Admiral  -  258 


BOOK  IV 

THE  SPORT  OF  THE  GODS 

CHAPTER        XII— The    Cup    of    Tantalus— Baron 
Von     Rheingold's      Struggle — 


CONTENTS  7 

PAGE 

Judge    Fox    Sends  a  Mediator — 
Evelyn's  Hartley's  Strange  Visi 
tor—From  the  Dead— The   Per-      , 
sian   Minister — Stein's    Quarrel 
— Lady  Isabel's  Mission      -       -  284 

XIII— For  a  Million— The  Wedding 
Eve— "Will  You  Lift  the  Lady's 
Veil" — A  Sudden  Summons — 
Stein's  Disclosure — Lord  Beau- 
ford  Goes  a  Wooing — Miss  Hart 
ley*  s  Answer — Lady  Dunham's 
S  u  r  p  r  i  s  e — A  Sudden  Visit- 
Saved — The  Magic  Ring  -  -  313 

XIV — The  Ocean  Tobacco  Parliament — 
From  Vienna  to  Ventnor — A 
Hard  Winter— The  Rising  Stopm 
—The  Red  Flag  Waved  Aloft— 
Count  Orborski  Once  More — 
Evelyn  Hartley  Finds  a  Golden 
Key — After  the  Cyclone  -  -  345 
XV — A  Representative  of  the  People— 
The  Admiral's  Summons — Anar 
chy's  Missing  Leader — A  Stran 
ger  at  Jordanov — Melchior  Lays 
a  Snare — By  the  Banks  of  the 
Arva — On  the  Lawn  at  Ventnor 
Hall  -  -  379 


THE  ANARCHIST 

A   STORY  OF    TO-DAY 


BOOK  I 
CHAPTER  l 

THE   HARTLEY  TRUST — PREMONITION 

"CAN  you  give  me  an  hour  this  evening,  Judg^?  I 
wish  to  confer  with  you  on  a  matter  which  has  been 
long  troubling  my  mind,"  said  millionaire  David 
Hartley  to  his  trusted  lawyer. 

Wilkinson  Fox  gazed  in  surprise  at  his  client's 
gloomy  brow.  It  was  the  close  of  a  particularly  cozy 
dinner  'en  famille.' 

"I  am  sorry,  David,  but  I  am  down  for  the  address 
at  the  Law  School  Commencement  to-night!  Can 
you  come  to  the  office  to-morrow?  I  will  be  late,  I 
fear,  as  it  is!"  replied  the  old  counselor,  glancing  at 
his  infallible  watch. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  briskly  remarked  his  host,  touch 
ing  the  foot  bell. 

"Sampson!"  Hartley  cried,  as  the  butler  appeared, 
"send  the  carriage  around  at  once!  I'll  ride  down  with 
you,  Judge!" 


10  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Beg  pardon,  sir!  Mrs.  Hartley,  Miss  Evelyn  and 
Doctor  Stein  have  just  gone  to  the  lecture.  Will  you 
have  the  coupe*?"  The  functionary  hastened  his 
stately  stride  at  the  imperious  nod  of  a  master  im 
patient  of  delay. 

"Nothing  serious,  I  hope,  Hartley?"  interrogated 
the  advocate.  "We  got  through  the  meeting  very 
fairly,  I  thought. " 

"Ah!  It  is  not  current  business.  I .  wish  you  to 
come  up  to-morrow  evening.  The  fact  is,  Judge,  I 
wish  you  to  make  some  changes  in  my  will!  I  must 
talk  with  you  alone!" 

David  Hartley  stepped  briskly  toward  the  door,  for 
punctuality  was  a  fad  of  his  now  anxious  listener. 

"See  here!  You  are  not  looking  badly!  Why, 
Rheingold  told  me  this  afternoon  you  were  at  concert 
pitch. "  Fox  eyed  his  client  closely.  "You  have  had 
no  serious  mishap?  no  personal  trouble?" 

"Not  a  cloud!"  said  Hartley,  good  humoredly,  "only 
I  have  had  a  reminder!  I  will  tell  you  all  to-morrow 
night!  There's  the  coup£!" 

"Very  good!  I  will  come  at  eight!  Count  on  me!" 
and  Wilkinson  Fox  warmly  pressed  Hartley's  hands  as 
he  walked  out  of  the  arched  doorway  of  Cleveland's 
most  princely  residence. 

"Hartley  seemed  worried!  Money!  Money!  Master 
and  slave  at  once"  murmured  Judge  Fox  as  he  sank 
back  in  the  cushions  and  proceeded  to  mentally  plot 
out  the  headings  of  a  characteristically  mordant  lect 
ure  of  advice  to  the  fledglings  of  the  law  school. 

"Will  you  have  anything  else,  sir!"  inquired  Samp 
son,  with  diffidence,  as  David  Hartley  stood  gloomily 
gazing  out  on  the  darkened  waters  of  Lake  Erie.  With 
his  hands  folded  behind  him,  he  smoked  in  silence. 


THE   ANARCHIST  II 

Take  the  coffee  into  the  library!  I  will  be  late  to 
night!"  abstractedly  remarked  Cleveland's  business 
autocrat. 

"Something  up  with  the  Guv'nor!"  mused  the  but 
ler,  as  he  left  his  master  standing  by  the  window. 

Hartley  turned  from  the  casement  with  a  sigh.  His 
quick  eye  had  noted  the  gleaming  lights  of  his  favor 
ite  evening  boat! 

Below  the  aristocratic  sweep  of  Euclid  Avenue,  the 
trains  were  screaming  and  whistling  on  the  twisted  lines 
of  railway.  The  Union  Depot  was  a  blaze  of  light. 
Through  the  gathering  gloom  of  night,  fitful  flashes 
of  red  flame  spoke  of  the  never  satisfied  gnawing  of 
the  hungry  mill  furnaces  !  An  indistinct  murmur  of 
never-ceasing  toil  brought  a  smile  to  Hartley's  face 
as  he  watched!  "All  on  the  move!"  It  was  true! 
Around  the  capitalist's  stately  palace,  shaven  lawns, 
and  beautiful  gardens  swept  in  emerald  richness !  Side 
by  side,  wealth's  luxurious  citadels  reared  their  stately 
fronts  along  the  famed  avenue,  but  in  far  distant  streets, 
crowds  of  men,  roughly  clad,  with  labor's  drooping 
shoulders  and  sullen  tread,  trooped  off  or  on  shift!  Tin 
pail,  short  pipe,  carelessly  buttoned  coat,  wolfish  eyes 
gleaming  over  blue  bearded  cheeks  marked  the  great 
army  of  toilers. 

The  able-bodied  men  were  "all  on  the  move,"  and 
in  hundreds  of  prosaic  shelter  dens,  weary-eyed  women 
faced  the  varied  phases  of  a  never-ending  drudgery 
or  aimlessly  exchanged  sullen  gossip  around  their 
humble  doorsteps. 

The  sluggish  carbon-laden  air  of  the  manufacturing 
city  hung  heavily  like  a  pall  over  stately  home  and 
squalid  tenement,  daring  even  to  cross  the  sacredly 
guarded  line  which  separates  patrician  and  plebeian  in 


12  THE   ANARCHIST 

Columbia — that  invisible  barrier  which  gives  the  lie 
to  our  boasted  ecuality! 

Where  nature  smiled,  where  wide  streets,  brilliant 
lights,  gay  crowds,  opulent  display,  and  life,  vigor, 
amusement,  dissipation,  and  animation  clung  around 
the  "money  end"  of  Cleveland,  the  very  footsteps  of 
the  passers  rang  merrily  on  the  well-kept  pavement. 
Laughter,  love,  and  animal  spirits  fled  away  before  the 
brooding  silence  of  the  narrowed  and  darkened  quar 
ters  of  the  generation  "doing  time"  for  their  masters 
"on  the  avenue!"  The  pitiful  shrinking  up  of  the 
civic  attractions  in  the  labor  quarter  accorded  with 
the  narrowed  foreheads,  shuffling  walk,  and  abased  man 
ner  of  the  crowds  jostling  each  other  on  the  roughened 
pathways.  It  was  an  object-lesson  in' "Environments.  " 
They  were  results  en  masse! 

All  is  on  the  move,"  mechanically  repeated  David 
Hartley,  as  he  dropped  the  rich  curtain  and  walked 
through  the  noble  dining-room,  down  the  superb  hall 
to  his  spacious  library.  He  wasted  not  a  single 
thought  on  the  thousands  toiling  under  his  industrial 
banner  and  plodding  sullenly  along  in  life's  tread-mill, 
as  he  threw  himself  down  in  an  easy-chair  of  Cordovan 
leather! 

His  eye  coldly  gazed  upon  priceless  pictures  gleam 
ing  in  beauty  on  the  walls  of  a  room  larger  than  the 
tenement  he  was  born  in!  In  serried  cases,  under  the 
glow  of  a  frescoed  ceiling,  reposed  the  scholar's  weap 
ons,  the  embattled  books  of  four  hundred  years  of 
Faust  and  Gutenburg's  art. 

When  David  Hartley  thrust  himself  up  from  a  hag 
gard-eyed  horde  of  his  fellow-toilers  by  dint  of  sheer 
will  power  and  a  marvelous  mechanical  talent,  he 
knew  not  the  names  of  a  dozen  of  the  volumes  now  at 
his  side. 


THE   ANARCHIST  15 

"I  must  go  to  work!  he  thought.  It  was  a  self- 
applied  goad!  A  memory  of  the  days  when  the  warn 
ing  factory  whistle  called  him  hungry,  from  a  cold  and 
squalid  room,  to  his  machinist's  bench  and  vise. 

His  eye  fell  upon  a  simply  framed  drawing  placed 
between  a  Corot  and  a  Fortuny.  His  face  lightened 
with  a  glow  of  conscious  pride.  It  was  his  patent  of 
nobility!  The  first  drawing  of  the  Hartley  engine 
valve! 

Opening  a  safe  ingeniously  concealed  under  the  pedes 
tal  of  a  massive  bust  of  the  Hon.  David  Hartley — 
Railroad  President,  Bank  Director,  Insurance  Official, 
etc. — he  drew  forth  a  bundle  of  papers  and  seating 
himself  at  a  working-table  fit  for  a  premier,  was  soon 
lost  in  calculation  and  the  penciling  of  private  notes. 

The  quarters  chimed  unnoticed  from  the  great  or 
molu  clock  on  the  mantel  as  the  self-made  plutocrat 
toiled  in  silence.  His  cup  of  coffee  and  cigar  were 
finished  long  before  he  swung  the  safe-door  to  its 
place.' 

David  Hartley's  brow  was  clouded  as  he  took  up  a 
richly  framed  miniature  from  his  desk.  His  lips  moved 
in  murmured  tenderness  when  he  laid  it  down  after  a 
long  scrutiny.  "Poor  little  man!"  he  muttered,  as  he 
began  a  nervous  tramp  over  the  tufted  carpet.  "He 
might  have  saved  me  this  heart  worry  over  Evelyn's 
future,  if — if — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence!  His  father's  heart 
shunned  the  thought  of  the  little  mound  at^Lake  View 
hidden  by  tons  of  sculptured  marble! 

Beneath  that  gleaming  stone  shaft,  the  hopes  of  a 
life  lay  buried.  His  only  son!  It  was  the  bitterness 
of  death. 

In  the  haunting  silence  of  the  room  the  great  capi- 


14  THE  ANARCHIST 

talist  forgot  his  intermeshed  money  machinery!  Pipe 
line,  railway,  rolling-mills,  steam  lines,  shares,  stocks, 
and  bonds  were  forgotten!  Drifting  back  on  the  tide 
of  memory,  a  childish  voice  long  stilled  rang  once 
more  on  his  ear !  Two  chubby  arms  seemed  to  press 
his  neck  again — he  waited  for  the  quick  rush  of  un 
steady  little  feet! 

"What  is  it  all  worth?  this  daily  battle — the  strug 
gle?  Life's  barren  victory!  Even  my  name  will  van 
ish.  And  Evelyn?  Alone,  young,  inexperienced — 
the  prey  of  every  sly  fortune-hunter!  It  would  have 
been  all  different,  so  different,  if  Davey  had  not  died  !" 

Some  gentle  angel  of  slumber  brushed  the  tired 
man's  brow  with  a  sweep  of  its  shadowy  wing  and 
alone,  surrounded  by  his  hard  won  wealth,  David 
Hartley  slept. 

As  his  tired  head  lay  under  the  gleam  of  the  crystal 
globes,  the  man  of  fifty-six  looked  gaunt  and  worn. 

His  heavy,  robust,  angular  frame  spoke  of  the  youth 
ful  hardening  factory  life.  Dark,  grizzled,  wiry  hair 
surmounted  a  broad  forehead  beneath  whose  overhang 
ing  brows  the  keen  eyes  gleamed  with  intellectual  fires 
in  his  walk  among  men.  High  cheek  bones,  heavy 
jaws,  and  a  firm,  clean-cut  chin  marked  the  resolution 
of  his  massive  face.  Under  the  sweeping  gray  mus 
tache  his  firm  lips  were  as  coldly  stern  as  ever  soldier 
leading  a  forlorn  hope. 

In  his  slumber  the  hard  face  relaxed  not  a  line. 
His  broad,  knotted  hands  rested  on  his  knees  as  if 
ready  to  grasp  the  throttle  at  the  clang  of  bell! 

Severely  plain  in  his  dress,  the  ruler  of  an  indus 
trial  army  was  of  less  'swelling  port'  than  his  pros 
perous  'middlemen'  basking  at  ease  under  the  banners 
of  this  victor,  in  the  money  riot  of  modern  American 
business  life! 


THE   ANARCHIST  15 

There  was  not  a  softened  shade  on  the  bronzed 
cheek  of  this  apostle  of  work  and  syndicated  energy! 

Yet,  in  his  uneasy  slumbers  the  lonely  man's  voice 
betrayed  the  tenderness  of  a  heart  strangely  moved,  as 
he  murmured,  "Davey!  my  little  boy!" 

From  his  rest,  David  Hartley  returned  alert  and 
energetic,  swinging  bolt  upright  as  a  beautiful  young 
woman  with  the  stride  of  a  goddess  swept  into  the 
room ! 

"So  late,  father!  Must  you  work  always?  Is  this 
right?"  She  was  a  picture  of  glowing  loveliness  as 
her  rich,  earnest  voice  waked  the  echoes  of  the  room ! 

Her  listener  laughed  as  he  held  out  his  arms!  "What 
do  you  know  of  work,  Evelyn?  I  was  merely  looking 
over  some  papers!  Thinking!  Thinking  of  old  times!" 

Evelyn  Hartley  dropped  the  fleecy  wonders  of  her 
wraps  and,  in  an  instant,  was  folded  to  her  father's 
breast.  Her  quick  eye  had  noted  the  displaced  pict 
ure  of  the  little  boy  who  died!  A  tender  gleam,  a 
ray  of  sunlight  on  the  wintry  darkness  of  David  Hart 
ley's  eyes  lit  up  his  face  as  he  smoothed  the  fair  head 
resting  on  his  bosom. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  lecture,  Little  One?  What  was 
it?"  He  fondly  gazed  on  her  eager  face,  radiant  in 
the  golden  light  of  youth. 

"It  was  grand!  The  influence  of  Goethe  on  Modern 
Thought.'  Professor  Stein  was  more  than  satisfied!" 

Evelyn  Hartley  pointed  merrily  to   the    clock   dial. 

'And  your  mother?" 

"Has  already  gone  upstairs!  You  know  Doctor 
Rheingold's  orders!  Good-night,  father!" 

The  beauty  swept  toward  the  grand  staircase,  paus 
ing  to  throw  a  kiss  from  dainty  gloved  finger-tips  to 
the  rear  guard  of  the  first  family  of  Cleveland.  No 


l6  THE  ANARCNIST 

fairer  woman  ever  wandered  by  Lake  Erie's  shores 
than  Evelyn  Hartley.  She  stood,  waiting,  a  living 
picture,  at  the  head  of  the  stair  to  beckon  the  Marshal 
Ney  of  the  Army  of  Capital  to  follow  her  graceful 
movements. 

Sure  of  her  Empire,  the  lovely  heiress  noted  the 
docile  obedience  of  the  stern  man  who,  ever  turning  a 
defiant  face  to  the  world,  was  gentleness  itself  to  his 
wife  and  the  one  child  of  his  heart. 

David  Hartley's  eye  rested  in  delight  upon  the 
swaying  figure  of  the  girl.  Tall  and  with  an  exquisite 
lissome  form,  her  dark  eyes,  softened  with  the  glow 
ing  light  of  eighteen,  her  shapely  neck,  firm  in  its 
gleaming  contour,  was  swept  with  rebellious  tresses 
mutinous  of  control.  Her  cheek  was  flushed  with  the 
rich  tints  of  life's  unsullied  spring-tide,  and  an  energy 
of  hope  and  aspiration  clung  to  her  every  movement. 
Fair  brows  unshaded  by  a  sorrow,  shone  over  the  ten 
der  eyes  gazing  fondly  on  him !  The  happy  ease  of  a 
gloriously  dawning  womanhood,  a  presence  of  thrill 
ing  charm  and  the  laughter  ringing  from  an  untroubled 
heart  were  the  characteristic  gifts  of  kindly  nature, 
softened  from  the  unshakable  virility  of  her  father  by 
the  gentle  graces  of  a  delicate  mother. 

"Bright,  brave  girl  !  How  can  I  make  life's  path 
way  smooth  for  you?  My  Evelyn !  I  had  hoped  some 
day  to  see  Phil — ah!" — The  strong  man  gasped  as  he 
clung  to  the  carved  rail.  A  sudden  spasm  tore  his 
breast  with  anguish.  He  waited  in  an  awful  expect 
ancy  for  passing  moments  as  long  drawn  as  a  death 
sentence. 

"That  weakness!  The  old  sledge-hammer  days!  I 
must  hasten  lest  I  be  too  late!"  David  Hartley  slowly 
moved  up  the  stair!  No  man  shuddering  under  the 


THE   ANARCHIST  17 

awful  decree  of  the  "Vehmgericht,"  no  wretch  await 
ing  the  voice  from  the  terrible  "Lion's  mouth,"  ever 
walked  under  a  surer  sentence  of  death  than  David 
Hartley! 

His  face  was  ashen  as  his  trembling  limbs  bore  him 
past  the  door  where,  in  her  maiden  bower,  beautiful 
Evelyn  Hartley  stood,  a  radiant  vision  before  her 
mirror. 

"She  must  not  know!  Poor  girl!  I  must  find  a 
way!  Judge  Fox  can  aid  me!" 

And  the  stricken  Croesus  stealing  to  his  rest  under 
costly  lace  canopies,  found  in  his  vial  of  drops,  a  nepen 
the  of  the  night!  It  was  the  heart  weakness  gained  in 
the  days  of  striking  as  a  blacksmith's  humble  helper, 
which  beaded  with  cold  drops  the  brow  of  the  million 
aire  inventor! 

On  her  knees,  almost  within  hearing  of  the  long- 
drawn  sighs  of  the  resolute  sufferer,  Evelyn  Hartley 
faltered  a  fervent  prayer  for  the  dear  one,  under  the 
unsuspected  sentence! 

Long  before  the  sun  had  pierced  the  suspended 
blackness  of  Cleveland's  overhanging  smoke  clouds, 
David  Hartley,  brisk  and  alert,  was  on  his  way  to  the 
headquarters  of  his  financial  body  guard!  Calm, 
erect,  his  dark  eyes  glowing  with  earnest  purpose,  the 
man  of  millions  took  his  accustomed  place  among  the 
anxious-faced  watchers  of  telegraph,  telephone,  and 
stock  ticker.  He  faced  a  relay  of  secretaries  with 
mounds  of  letters.  The  click  of  type-writers,  the  com 
ing  and  going  of  the  Ishmaelite  messenger  lads,  and 
hurried  morning  reports  varied  the  occupations  of 
Hartley,  as  he  regarded  a  daily  calendar  of  meetings, 
interviews,  and  appointments.  A  smile  lingered  on 
his  lips,  for  in  his  button-hole  a  red  rose  spoke  of  the 


1 8  THE  ANARCHIST 

bright-eyed  one  who  had  graced  his  usually  solitary 
breakfast! 

"A  reward  for  watching  for  me  last  night,  sir!"  cried 
the  willful  beauty  as  she  decorated  him  with  the  badge 
of  victorious  Lancaster. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  to-day,  Evelyn?"  was 
his  parting  query. 

"Drive  out,after  mother  sees  Doctor  Rheingold.  She 
thinks  she  can  bear  it  to-day,"  his  daughter  answered, 
as  David  Hartley  thought,  wrth  patient  regret,  of  the 
fair-faced  English  wife  who  seemed  to  have  been 
frightened  into  the  inertia  of  invalidism  by  the  rush 
ing,  jarring  shocks  of  the  nerve-destroying  American 
life  she  had  never  learned  to  like!  She  yearned  for 
the  green  lanes  of  merrie  old  England! 

A  quiet  eyrie  above  the  overhanging  smoke  pall 
sheltered  Wilkinson  Fox  a  few  squares  from  where 
David  Hartley's  office  was  the  mecca  of  the  money- 
seekers  of  Cleveland.  The  astute  old  lawyer  hung  be 
tween  heaven  and  earth  in  a  great  pile  devoted  to  the 
parchment-faced  Knights  of  the  Greenbag.  There 
was  a  grim  smile  on  his  face  this  pleasant  summer 
morning,  as  he  mounted  the  steps  of  the  legal  rookery. 

"About  as  far  as  I  could  get  from  the  clients,"  he 
mused.  For  Judge  Wilkinson  Fox,  of  national  reputa 
tion  as  a  jurist,  enjoyed  the  delicious  Indian  summer 
of  life.  A  veteran  advocate,  he  lived  in  the  intrica 
cies  of  modern  legal  entanglements.  Secure  in  a 
splendid  private  fortune,  browsing  at  will  in  the  desic 
cated  pastures  of  his  great  library — his  metier  was,  as 
adviser,  to  cry  ware  wolf — and  to  point  out  hidden 
pitfalls  to  his  clientele — resolute  gladiators  in  the 
arena  of  nineteenth-century  speculation.  To  a  large 
family  he  had  transmitted  his  wealth,  not  his  brains! 


THE   ANARCHIST  19 

Entrenched  in  his  guarded  study,  he  heard  distantly 
of  the  social  triumphs  of  his  womankind  through  the 
carefully  arranged  cuttings  in  his  daily  posted  scrap- 
books,  or  learned  of  the  somewhat  doubtful  lustre 
added  to  the  family  name  by  a  new  football  exploit  or 
athletic  feat  of  his  wild  sons,  all  judiciously  tethered 
out  at  various  colleges. 

Gazing  with  an  air  of  mild  disdain  upon  the  weather, 
having  satisfied  himself  that  the  lake  was  in  its  usual 
position,  he  drew  out  a  cigarette  case,  adjusted  his 
spectacles,  and  sharply  rang  his  desk  bell. 

"Codman!"  he  remarked,  as  a  managing  clerk  of  be 
coming  gravity  appeared,  "Bring  me  'Jarman  on  Wills !' 
Stay! — After  that  I  will  see  no  one  but  Doctor  Ernest 
Rheingold.  He  has  an  appointment!  Remember!" 

"There  are    several  matters," — began  the  factotum. 

"Never  mind!  Mr.  Saunders  will  attend  to  all!  I 
will  see  no  one!  Let  no  one  but  Mr.  Saunders  inter 
rupt  me!" 

As  the  neat  footed  clerk  laid  the  book  down  on  his 
return,  he  closed  the  door  softly.  "It's  a  field  day 
with  the  Judge,"  he  murmured.  The  old  spider  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  wreathed  in  smoke  and  ap 
parently  examining  several  austere  engravings  of 
Daniel  Webster,  Jeremiah  Mason,  Chancellor  Kent, 
Rufus  Choate,  and  other  legal  word  jugglers  of  dead 
and  by -gone  days!  But,  the  radial  lines  of  legal  intrigue 
reaching  out  from  that  silent  den  swept  over  the  vast 
territory  under  the  star  flag!  The  silent  tide  moved 
along  daily! 

"It  is  a  pity!"  soliloquized  the  old  judge,  as  he  ab 
sently  turned  the  leaves  of  "Jarman."  "Hartley  is  a 
fine  fellow!  A  mainstay  of  many  an  enterprise!  I 
wonder — I  wonder,  how  it  would  affect  the  Superior 


2O  THE   ANARCHIST 

Iron  Ore  Company."  The  aged  lawyer  started  as  his 
eye  rested  on  rows  of  green  dispatch  boxes!  He  had 
failed  to  define  the  "it!"  David  Hartley's  death  ap 
peared  more  near  as  he  read  the  inscriptions.  "Estate 
of  Rogers."  "Winder  Estate,"  and  sundry  other  lugu 
brious  endorsements.  Mementos  of  vanished  clients 
whose  fortunes  had  paid  him  heavy  toll! 

"Gone!  All  gone!"  Wilkinson  Fox  sighed.  His 
sixty  years  weighed  suddenly  on  him.  Yet  the  gentle 
manly  vice  of  avarice  held  him  in  its  spell  as  he  ran 
over  in  his  mind  the  stocks  controlled  by  Hartley,  in 
which  his  own  golden  gleanings  were  invested!  There 
was  the  chance  of  a  great  "turn!" 

"Perhaps  Rheingold  can  post  me!  I  may  make  some 
prudential  moves!"  was  the  advocate's  last  fleeting 
thought  before  the  fragrant  incense  of  his  Cairo  ciga 
rette  shut  all  the  world  out  save  the  stilted  intricacies 
of  the  treatise  on  "Wills." 

Of  the  dainty  port  of  the  scholar,  neat  in  attire,  with 
slender,  eager,  yellowed  hands,  his  whole  manner  ac 
centuated  by  the  furtive  watchfulness  of  his  craft, 
Wilkinson  Fox  was  a  modern  Roman.  An  overhang 
ing  brow,  under  the  silvered  rounded  dome  of  thought, 
an  eagle  air,  cold  gray  eyes,  glinting  like  steel,  and 
carefully  controlled  pitiless  lips  marked  his  sphinx- 
like  face.  The  hooked  profile  of  the  bird  of  prey  gave 
an  acerbity  to  the  passionless  face. 

A  Jesuit  of  the  legal  forum,  patient, cold, sly, unerring 
in  his  intellectual  conclusions,  matchless  in  restrained 
force,  indefatigable  in  labor,  the  old  judge  was  a  very 
Richelieu  of  the  bar.  The  self-reliance  of  the  experi 
enced  counselor  was  veiled  in  the  exquisite  diction 
of  his  sparkling  conversation.  It* was  only  on  great 
battle  days  in  court  when  the  lucid  flow  of  his  elo- 


THE   ANARCHIST  11 

quence,  the  clean-cut  logic  of  his  argument  swept 
away  in  a  resistless  tide  the  banners  of  opposition. 
Then  he  was  incandescent! 

"Show  the  doctor  in!"  said  the  plodding  reader,  as 
he  glanced  at  a  card  an  hour  later.  "I  wonder  how 
much  he  knows.  Surely  a  house  physician  for  years 
must  have  noted  Hartley's  weak  points.  I  will  let 
him  talk,"  he  smiled  grimly. 

When  the  genial  German  left  the  room  a  half-hour 
later,  Wilkinson  Fox  showed  him  out  with  deferential 
politeness.  Round  of  face,  with  beaming  blue  eyes, 
a  habitual  bonhomie  marked  the  prosperous  physician, 
Ernest  Rheingold.  Dreamily  sentimental,  faithful,  and 
sympathetic,  the  doctor's  genial  presence  was  the  beacon 
light  of  Caroline  Hartley's  uneventful  life.  The  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  abstracted  manner,  and  quaint  way 
of  Ernest  Rheingold  told  of  the  plodding  years  in  the 
Vaterland,  spent  in  acquiring  a  vast  fund  of  profes 
sional  knowledge.  An  indefatigable  worker,  a  zeal-  ~ 
ous  physician,  and  a  valued  friend,  the  very  name  of 
Ernest  Rheingold  was  an  omen  of  good  import  in  all 
circles,  from  the  rich  who  flattered  and  petted  him,  to 
the  poor  who  paid  him  with  fervent  blessings.  The 
guarded  secret  of  the  Teuton's  impressionable  heart  was 
a  fondness  amounting  to  romantic  devotion  for  the 
woman,  who,  as  David  Hartley's  gentle  but  useless 
wife,  was  allied  to  the  fierce  chess  play  of  her  hus 
band's  gigantic  money  schemes.  She  was  a  social  nul 
lity,  living  in  repressed  awe  of  his  soaring  onward 
flight. 

Her  recluse  life  was  a  mild  protest  against  the  en 
ergetic  vivacity  and  brilliant  dash  of  that  budding 
beauty,  Evelyn,  into  whose  firm  white  hands  the  house 
hold  reins  had  dropped  from  her  own  slender  fingers, 
weighted  down  with  gems! 


22  THE  ANARCHIST 

"So!"  mused  Wilkinson  Fox,  as  Rheingold  vanished, 
"it  is  a  matter  of  any  sudden  excitement!  The  heart 
walls  are  thinned  with  the  brutal  hardships  of  his  ear 
lier  working  days !  A  last  flicker,  then,  'out  brief  can 
dle!'  I  must  look  into  this  at  once!  Would  Hartley 
retire?  I  wonder  if  he  knows  all!  He's  a  terribly 
resolute  fellow!  Working  away  with  no  sign  of 
fear!  I  suppose  he  will  die  some  day  in  harness!  And 
I  must  now  put  his  house  in  order!  The  girl  is  a  no 
ble  woman!  I  always  thought  that  Maitland  might 
fancy  her!  But  he's  away  at  the  uttermost  ends  of 
the  earth.  He  seems  to  wish  to  verify  the  existence 
of  every  town  named  in  the  World's  Gazetteer!  Pity 
too!  Phil  had  a  decided  legal  bent!" 

The  afternoon  shadows  were  gathering  before  Wil-v 
kinson  Fox  closed  his  familiar  tomes.  He  was  armed 
to  the  last  triviality.  "Jarman"  was  now  hidden  under 
a  castaway  pile  of  similarly  formidable  treatises  cun 
ningly  devised  to  enable  the  intelligent  to  create  legal 
jungles  impenetrable  to  hostile  attack! 

"Now  I  wonder  if  that  fellow  Stein  has  an  eye  to 
the  future!  I  must  look  into  that!  Singular  man. 
His  ability  is  marvelous!  Is  he  a  world  rover,  a  free 
lance,  or  an  intellectual  renegade?  I  think  I  will 
watch  Professor  Carl  Stein,"  and  the  old  judge  was 
weaving,  weaving  his  silent  web,  while  his  superb 
horses  bore  him  along  the  avenue  on  his  constitutional. 

As  Judge  Fox  measuredly  paced  along  the  front  of 
the  Hartley  grounds  in  the  starlight,  pondering  over 
the  division  of  the  great  estate,  a  springing  step 
roused  him,  and  a  ringing  manly  voice  set  every  nerve 
tingling. 

"Confound  the  fellow!  He  always  comes  on  one 
like  an  Alpine  storm  blast!"  muttered  the  lawyer,  as 


THE   ANARCHIST  2$ 

he  gravely  said  "Good  evening,  Professor  Stein!    You 
are  going  in!" 

"I  am,  Judge!  Miss  Hartley  is  extending  her  pri 
vate  library!  I  am  classifying  her  books!" 

"Does  her  studious  enthusiasm  still  bear  her  up  in 
her  flights  into  the  realms  of  German  philosophy?" 
queried  the  old  man. 

"The  only  woman  mind  I  have  ever  seen  unfold  and 
grasp  knowledge  broadly.  There  is  nothing  beyond 
her  capacity!"  replied  Stein,  with  enthusiasm.  "I  can 
lead  her  no  farther.  There  is  nothing  hidden  to  her 
aspiring  intellect.  Beyond  comparison,  the  finest 
woman  nature  I  have  ever  fathomed!" 

"And  the  emotions?  Has  her  lonely  girlhood  smoth 
ered  the  longings  of  a  woman's  heart?"  There  was  a 
shade  of  expressed  concern  in  the  lawyer's  voice. 

"Evelyn  Hartley  is  beyond  the  spasmodic  fever  of 
the  love  mania.  She  is  destined  to  a  higher  empire 
than  to  be  the  Sultana  of  a  fin-de-siecle  marriage!" 
replied  Stein,  forcibly. 

"Indeed — few  women  reach  that  exalted  station!" 
remarked  Fox,  with  a  polite  'sneer,  as  he  turned  into 
the  great  lawn,  "What  is  its  special  characteristic?" 

"The  personal  and  intellectual  freedom  of  a  glorious 
natural  womanhood !"  gravely  replied  Stein  as  they 
entered  the  great  portals. 

"This  tutelage  leads  whither?"  mused  the  judge, 
as  he  watched  Carl  Stein's  erect  figure  disappear  in 
the  great  drawing-room.  Wilkinson  Fox  had  caught 
the  expression  of  Carl  Stein's  face  in  the  great  mirror 
as  the  German  disappeared  with  a  curt,  snappy  bow. 
A  smile  of  contented  pride  played  on  Stein's  lips  as 
he  had  spoken.  There  was  the  light  of  triumph  on 
his  strong,  masterful  face.  The  real  attributes  of  Doc- 


24  THE   ANARCHIST 

tor  Carl  Stein  were  an  enigma  to  even  the  watchful 
lawyer.  For  three  years  the  director  of  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  studies  in  belles-lettres,  the  Heidelberg  alumnus 
was  of  unexceptionable  bearing. 

His  forty-three  years  were  not  indicated  by  the  fresh 
ness  of  his  massively  moulded  face.  Defiant  gray 
eyes  flashing  under  his  waving  locks,  a  restless  phys 
ical  and  mental  activity  and  singularly  graceful  cosmo 
politan  manners  gave  him  distinction.  The  reserve  of 
his  daily  life  harbored  no  mystery,  for  in  the  intellect 
ual  world  Stein  of  "Heidelberg"  was  not  without  clear 
credentials  and  well-vouched  laurels. 

In  accordance  with  Caroline  Hartley's  one  resolutely 
expressed  maternal  fiat,  her  daughter  had  been  care 
fully  instructed  at  home.  The  reputation  attained  by 
Doctor  Stein,  as  an  attach^  of  continental  German 
Embassies  was  a  nimbus  of  glory.  Unexceptionable 
in  bearing  and  address,  his  position  in  Cleveland  was 
accentuated  by  the  romantic  stories  of  his  determined 
.attachment  to  republican  .principles.  This  alone  fully 
explained  his  sacrifice  of  diplomatic  promotion! 

A  lonely  life,  an  impenetrable  social  reserve  and  a 
frank  indifference  to  womanly  charms  piqued  his  patri 
cian  pupils  and  caused  maternal  hearts  to  rest  un 
troubled. 

"I  hope  Mrs.  Hartley  is  well  this  evening,"  was  the 
gallant  salutation  of  Judge  Fox,  as  he  bent  with  stately 
old-fashioned  courtesy  over  that  lady's  hand. 

The  visitor  was  rewarded  with  a  graceful  wave  of  the 
fan  and  a  welcoming  smile  from  the  lady  who,  propped 
with  silken  pillows  on  a  sofa,  was  the  embodiment  of 
refined  invalidism.  Caroline  Walton's  Indian  nativity 
may  have  suggested  the  languor  of  her  womanhood. 
She  lingered  in  memory  over  the  memory-painted 


THE   ANARCHIST  25 

visions  of  her  girlhood,  before  Captain  Walton  of  the 
Bengal  Army  fell  into  a  snug  Yorkshire  property  by 
the  death  of  a  brother  who  obligingly  broke  his  neck 
in  a  stiff  run  across  country.  Still  fair,  and  with  the 
fresh  complexion  of  her  Saxon  race,  it  was  easy  to 
divine  the  instant  victory  of  the  Anglo-Indian  girl  over 
ardent  David  Hartley,  flushed  with  the  wondrous  suc 
cesses  of  the  Hartley  valve,  showering  English  gold  on 
the  talented  American. 

"You  have  business  with  Mr.  Hartley,  I  presume, 
Judge!"  equably  inquired  the  handsome  matron. 

"Some  papers!  yes!"  interjected  the  master  of  the 
house  who  had  warmly  greeted  his  friend,  and  now  led 
the  way  to  the  library. 

The  counselor  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  the  eager 
face  of  Evelyn  Hartley,  to  whom  with  unusual  ani 
mation,  Carl  Stein  was  eloquently  painting  the  future 
of  the  American  woman. 

"To  lead  her  sisters  in  victory,  past  the  barriers 
built  by  man  for  centuries  against  her  sex,  will  be 
the  fadeless  glory  of  one  great  American  woman!  The 
social  structure  of  the  world  can  not  be  changed  with 
out  woman,  invincible  in  her  purity.  It  is  to  America 
that  the  old  world — " 

Wilkinson  Fox  compressed  his  lips  as  he  followed 
his  host.  "Can  Stein  covet  this  girl's  enormous  in 
dividual  heritage?  On  what  road  does  he  lead  out 
that  fearless  neophyte?  She  has  passed  out  on  the 
sea  of  modern  unrest,  feverishly  acquired  knowledge, 
far  beyond  her  mismated  parents  !" 

The  lawyer  chose  a  seat,  in"  silence,  as  David  Hart 
ley  closed  the  door.  He  easily  divined  it  was  of  the 
brilliant,  ardent,  inexperienced  girl's  future  the  anx 
ious  man  would  speak!  Too  well  he  knew  by  tacitly 


26  THE    ANARCHIST 

established  custom  that  the  fair-haired  English  wife, 
with  the  unvarying  placid  blue  eyes,  was  a  domestic 
nullity. 

Wilkinson  Fox  accepted  a  cigar  in  silence.  He 
gazed  expectantly  at  the  earnest  face  of  Hartley,  who 
strode  up  and  down  the  room,  in  some  agitation. 

Abruptly  seating  himself,  the  client  faced  his  life 
time  friend  and  hurled  a  direct  question  at  him. 

"How  am  I  going  to  tie  up  my  daughter's  fortune 
to  secure  to  her  alone  its  entire  control?" 

David  Hartley  placed  a  mass  of  papers  on  the  table 
from  a  dispatch  box  at  his  side. 

"It  can  not  be  done!  Hartley,"  answered  the  lawyer 
in  a  dry  voice.  "State  your  wishes  and  I'll  see  how 
far  I  can  aid  you  to  carry  them  out." 

"I  will  not  hide  anything  from  you,  Judge!"  retorted 
the  anxious  millionaire.  "You  know  I  am  the  whole 
of  my  own  family.  There  is  no  one  else  !  As  regards 
my  marriage  I  may  as  well  admit  that  it  has  been  a 
social  failure!  Mere  accession  of  wealth,  the  tempo 
rary  commercial  value  of  a  signature  adds  no  polish 
to  the  self-made  man!  My  wife  has  never  drawn  a 
shade  nearer  to  me  than  on  the  day  when  the  shy 
English  girl  placed  her  hand  in  mine!  She  has  simply 
been  transplanted,  not  transformed.  It  is  different 
with  my  daughter!  She  is  of  my  own  blood!  Her 
very  soul  is  wrapped  up  in  an  inductive  sympathy  with 
my  hard  boyhood,  my  early  struggles,  my  brain  work, 
and  the  late  flowering  of  my  intellect!  My  wife  judges 
me  from  a  superior  social  standpoint.  My  daughter 
echoes  every  throb  of  my  heart!"  Hartley  paused  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  His  labored  breathing 
stilled  as  he  lifted  his  head. 

"I  had  hoped    to   live  to  see  Evelyn    a    self-reliant 


THE   ANARCHIST  27 

woman,  married  to  a  man  of  power  and  one  who  could 
direct  my  complicated  affairs!  If  my  son  had  lived, 
she  would  have  known  a  brother's  love!" 

"But,  my  friend,  I  have  lately  received  reminders  of 
the  coming  stroke.  I  fear,  I  even  predict  a  sudden 
death!  It  is  here," — he  tapped  his  breast— -"I  went 
away  last  year  to  the  metropolis.  As  a  stranger  I  con 
sulted  leading  specialists  !  The  time  approaches  !  The 
overtaxed  heart  action  can  never  repair  the  wasted  en 
ergies,  the  injurious  strain  of  my  'slavery  days'!" 

He  glanced  with  defiant  pride  to  the  window  where 
the  forge-fires  lit  up  the  horizon. 

"It  is  to  secure  Evelyn's  future  I  wish  you  to  aid 
me  now!" 

The  lawyer,  in  pity,  tried  to  divert  the  concentrated 
energy  of  the  brooding  mind. 

"Who  is  the  head  of  your  wife's  family?"  he  asked. 

"Admiral  Horatio  Walton,  formerly  of  the  English, 
late  of  the  Italian  Navy,"  replied  Hartley,  "an  elder 
brother's  son  inherits  the  lands.  He  is  a  minor  and  a 
stranger  to  me!  His  father  married  late  in  life!" 

"And  the  Admiral,  his  character  and  situation?" 
briskly  followed  up  the  lawyer. 

"Walton  is  a  singularly  gifted  man,  a  widower  nearly 
sixty,  and  living  in  London  in  retirement.  He  was  a 
Commander  in  the  English  Navy  when  Garibaldi  capt 
ured  Naples.  For  a  friendly  kindness  he  was  offered  an 
Admiral's  commission  by  Victor  Emmanuel.  Resign 
ing  the  English  service,  he  accepted  the  rank  and  is 
now  on  the  retired  list.  He  is  childless,  his  wife,  an 
Italian  countess,  has  been  dead  many  years.  He  is  a 
man  of  cosmopolitan  gifts,  arts,  and  of  a  vast  experi 
ence." 

Hartley  paused. 


2&  THE   ANARCHIST 

"And  would  you  trust  him?"  the  suave  counselor 
continued. 

"Most  decidedly!  He  is  my  wife's  nearest  relative 
and  beyond  any  personal  scheming.  His  retired  pay 
as  an  Italian  Admiral  is  ample  for  his  needs.  He  is  an 
authority  in  many  special  branches  of  science.  We 
were  quite  congenial!"  frankly  said  the  capitalist. 

"Now  what  is  your  wish,  Hartley,  as  regards  your 
daughter?'  Fox  was  quietly  watchful  of  every  shade 
of  thought  flitting  over  Hartley's  face. 

"I  would  shield  her  from  the  jackal  horde  of  fortune- 
hunters  who  would  snarl  over  my  grave  before  the  grass 
was  green  upon  it!  If  Evelyn  were  older,  I  would 
feel  inclined  to  trust  her  absolutely!  She  is  capable 
of  great  things  !  But,  if  called  away,  I  know  that  her 
mother  is  utterly  unfit  to  guide  her  in  matters  of  mo 
ment!  I  wish  my  wife  to  have  half  of  my  property, 
absolutely.  Her  brother  will  advise  her.  But  the 
other  half  will  be  a  tempting  bait  for  the  wolfish  Amer 
ican  schemers !  I  fear  the  result  of  the  awakening  of 
Evelyn's  emotional  nature  !  She  has  passed  beyond 
my  ken  in  education!  Her  whole  thoughts  move  on 
a  higher  plane  than  mine.  I  am  tied  to  the  practical. 
She  wanders  in  the  ideal  world!" 

"And  her  heart?"   the  counselor  was  alert. 

"Once  awakened,  the  flood  of  her  emotional  nature 
will  bear  all  before  it  in  its  released  energy!  She  has 
built  up  a  world  of  he*  own!  In  the  fierce  play  of  the 
world's  pleasures,  in  the  pride  of  untrammeled  power, 
she  may  be  a  victim  to  her  own  inexperience!  My  fort 
une  is  in  negotiable  shares  and  securities  mpstly.  It  is 
a  great  responsibility.  Under  a  malign  influence  he 
might  be  despoiled!  I  have  decided  upon  a  general 
course.  I  wish  you  to  create  a  trust  to  terminate  when 


THE    ANARCHIST  2Q 

she  is  twenty-five.  The  properties  I  have  here  in  tnis  list 
can  be  transferred  to  the  incorporated  company.  One- 
half  of  the  stock  can  be  placed  in  my  wife's  name, 
and  the  rest  held  for  Evelyn  by  three  trustees  or  their 
survivors. " 

Hartley  handed  his  listener  a  schedule. 

After  a  careful  examination  Wilkinson  Fox,  with  a 
trembling  hand,  returned  it. 

"It  is  an  enormous  property!  The  trustees  should  be 
selected  with  the  utmost  care!"  he  gravely  remarked. 

"I  have  exhausted  my  circle  of  friends.  The  choice 
is  a  narrow  one.  I  name  them  in  order.  Yourself, 
Admiral  Walton,  and  my  wife!" 

The  old  lawyer  started  up!  It  was  a  crowning  proof 
of  the  confidence  of  a  lifetime! 

"Not  a  word,  my  old  friend !  I  shall  feel  armed 
against  the  future  if  you  accept!  Above  all  not  a 
word  to  my  child.  I  wish  her  to  remain  at  present  in 
ignorance  of  the  whole  matter!  I  have  made  notes 
here  as  to  her  allowance,  to  a  suitable  increase  on  her 
twenty-first  birthday,  and  as  to  the  delivery  of  the 
entire  estate  upon  her  reaching  twenty-five!  Let  noth 
ing  delay  this  after  you  have  covered  the  entire  sub 
ject!  I  have  retained  ample  funds  for  my  personal  use. 
They  can  take  the  course  of  the  law!" 

"And  do  you  see  no  other  clouds  before  your  daugh 
ter  in  the  future?  Have  you  thought  of  every  danger? 
There  is  yet  time  with  these  vast  resources  to  cast  out 
anchors  in  every  direction!  This  property  is  all  in  the 
United  States!  Do  you  not  note  the  signs  of  the 
times?"  The  advocate  was  eager. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Hartley  in  won 
der. 

"These  properties  are  industrial,  manufacturing,  rail- 


3O  THE   ANARCHIST 

way,  and  corporate  stocks,  franchises  and  privileges 
representing  the  heaped-up  labor  of  thousands,  the 
bond  wage  of  a  polyglot  army!  Do  you  not  fear,  in 
these  restless  days,  when  through  our  open  port  the 
world's  refuse  thing — the  rising  tide  of  socialism,  bear 
ing  in  the  red  fire-ship  of  Anarchy!" 

Fox  had  risen,  his  eyes  lit  up  with  the  glow  of 
prophecy. 

"You  are  timorous,  Fox!"  cried  Hartley. 

"The  anarchist  in  America  is  only  an  anonymous 
coward!" 

"I  will  not  combat  you  with  argument,  Hartley," 
replied  the  counselor.  "As  an  adviser,  I  urge  you  to 
divert  a  portion  of  this  great  inheritance  destined  for 
your  child  to  England,  France,  and  Germany  for 
investment  in  government  funds!  You  and  your  fellow 
millionaires  forget  flaming  Cincinnati,  sacked  Pitts- 
burg,  and  great  New  York  under  mob  rule  !  The  poison 
of  anarchy  is  daily  infiltrated  through  every  industrial 
stratum!  You  do  not  hear  the  growl  of  the  masses, 
you  can  not  follow  the  filaments  of  the  poisonous  lichen 
of  imported  agitation!" 

"We  have  the  general  government?"  urged  Hartley. 

"Before  it  could  act,  the  accumulations  of  a  genera 
tion  would  be  sacrificed!  Be  warned!  I  would  divide 
this  wealth!"  repeated  Fox. 

"The  National  Guard  is  ready  always!"  persisted 
Hartley. 

"How  long  would  it  withstand  the  wild  rush  of  the 
maddened  masses  goaded  on  by  ingenious  conspira 
tors!"  rejoined  Fox. 

"No  National  Guard  has  ever  shown  itself  trust 
worthy  as  an  organization.  They  join  one  side  or  the 
other  of  a  civil  quarrel.  Look  at  the  history  of  France 


THE    ANARCHIST  3! 

for  the  last  hundred  years.  Your  militiaman  is  judge, 
jury,  sheriff  and  executioner!  when  he  is  effective,  he 
acts  as  a  regular — a  mere  executioner!  We  want  no 
thinking  bayonets  in  a  riot !  We  want  Napoleonic  hand 
ling  of  the  artillery!  Remember  the  Church  of  St. 
Roch!  The  Corsican  shot  first  and  talked  later  when 
he  said  'My  task  is  done!'  Your  guardsman  reasons 
falters  and  does  not  shoot!  You  plutocrats  will  learn 
all  this  some  day  when  blazing  factories  light  up  the 
'Carmagnole'  of  the  foreign  scum  drifting  in  here! 
They  only  need  leaders!  Human  fiends,  mad  with  the 
poisonous  doctrines  of  Marx,  Bakunin  and  Tcherni- 
cheffsky  are  now  creeping  to  the  front!  They  abandon 
the  creed  of  Proudhon,  the  vagaries  of  Mazzini,  the 
finely  spun  theories  of  St.  Simon,  Fourier,  Owen  and 
Enf antin !  The  red  terror  is  nearing  us!  Its  disciples 
are  led  on  by  men  as  careless  of  their  generation  as 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  of  his  progeny!  Dynamite  is 
their  argument!  Purification  by  fire  their  cure!  The 
modern  world  is  sick!  The  old  remedies  of  the  law 
are  seemingly  useless!  The  shock  of  Anarchy  will  kill 
the  patient  if  it  does  not  cure."  Fox  was  agitated. 
"But,  to  your  own  affairs!"  the  crafty  adviser  re 
turned.  "You  think  you  are  safe  in  your  property!  I 
pass  the  subject!  Your  daughter  has  the  glorious  prom 
ise  of  royal  womanhood  in  her  sweet  face!  You  may 
make  your  will  as  you  please!  Can  you  enforce  a  single 
wish!  In  the  future,  where  will  awakened  passions 
lead  her!  There  is  no  settled  station  in  America!  Do 
not  hope  to  see  her  walk  the  path  you  fondly  lay  out, 
in  a  father's  love !  We  are  creatures  of  fate,  Hartley; 
(the  judge's  voice  trembled),  God  alone  can  guide  and 
guard.  Let  me  invest  half  her  fortune  in  English  lands 
and  public  funds!  Old  Brittania  will  make  the  last 


32  THE  ANARCHIST 

stand  against  the  Red  Spectre,  thanks  to  feudal  land 
laws  and  a  strong  aristocracy!  Admiral  Walton  will 
watch  over  it." 

"See  here,  Fox!"  cried  Hartley,  rising,  "I  will  not 
be  persuaded  to  send  a  dollar  out  of  the  United  States! 
Come  to  me  to-morrow  night!  Bring  up  a  skeleton  of 
your  proposed  papers!  I  tell  you  the  industrial  masses 
of  America  are  superior  in  comfort  to  those  of  any 
civilized  land!" 

"True!  and  because  this  great  army  can  be  turned 
against  capital  in  resistless  attack  is  why  conspiring 
Anarchy  seeks  America  as  the  open  field  to  fight  out 
its  awful  battle  to  a  finish!  When  that  day  comes, 
as  come  it  will,  mercy  will  be  laughed  to  the  wind! 
The  storm  is  drifting  down  on  us,  driven  hither  from 
Europe!  Are  you  blind  to  the  growth  of  organized 
resistance?  Trades-unions,  labor-unions,  socialistic 
clubs,  agitation,  secret  societies,  anarchism,  nihilism, 
in  its  drastic  remedy  of  'dynamite*  for  every  political 
and  social  ailment!" 

"My  dear  Judge!  You  are  infected  with  the  timidity 
of  the  scholar!  You  are  an  alarmist!"  vigorously  re 
plied  Hartley. 

"I  am  not!"  stoutly  replied  the  awakened  lawyer. 
"Here,  alone,  the  toilers  have  freedom  of  movement, 
money,  innate  courage,  a  press  free  to  the  point  of 
license — all  they  lack  is  a  competent  set  of  successful 
demagogues  to  light  the  fires  of  revolt!" 

"Let  us  join  the  ladies"  said  Hartley,  as  he  opened 
the  door.  "Ah,  Doctor  Stein.  Going!  Good-night!" 

And  that  name  haunted  Wilkinson  Fox's  slumbers 
of  the  night! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PLAY  BEGINS CARL  STEIN  READS  THE  STARS  AT  SEA! 

"WHAT  a  perfect  morning!  There  is  nothing  sweeter 
than  the  breath  of  June  in  old  New  York!"  Evelyn 
Hartley  sighed  as  she  turned  from  the  windows  of  the 
faded  drawing-room  of  the  "Brevoort. "  Her  splendid 
eyes  were  moist,  as  roses  and  violets  in  dainty  fresh 
ness  greeted  her. 

"Take  them  to  my  rooms,  Ashford;  I  am  going  out 
to  drive  with  Judge  Fox  !"  She  dropped  the  card  bear 
ing,  in  a  boldly  pencilled  hand,  the  words  "Carl  Stein." 

In  a  shaded  corner  of  the  room,  the  heiress  sat,  her 
face  bowed  in  grief !  The  violets  spoke  of  other  blos 
soms  now  nodding  at  Lake  View  over  the  grave  of  her 
father! 

Robed  in  deepest  black,  her  eyes  tinged  with  the 
first  great  sorrow  of  her  life,  Evelyn  Hartley  seemed 
a  royal  daughter  of  the  Night! 

"To-morrow  will  bear  me  even  farther  away  from 
him!  Out  on  the  wild  waves,  a  lonely  woman  on 
lonely  waters  of  Life!  It  is  too  bitter,  too  cruel!"  The 
stately  woman  wrung  her  hands  in  anguish. 

Yet  calmly,  with  the  dignity  of  her  grief  she  met 
grave-faced  Wilkinson  Fox,  who  ceremoniously  escorted 
her  to  the  carriage.  It  was  only  when  the  trembling 
leaves  of  the  park  shaded  them,  that  her  old  trus 
tee  found  his  voice.  He  had  been  intently  watching 
the  noble  face,  proud  and  firm  in  its  virginal  beauty, 

33 


34  THE   ANARCHIST 

The  carriage  threaded  the  alleys  at  a  walk,  while  in 
monotone,  Wilkinson  Fox  assumed  the  Polonius.  "My 
dear  young  lady,"  said  the  counselor,  "it  seems  fitting 
you  should  know  of  the  concern  with  which  I  see  you 
go  so  far  from  me!  Your  father  and  I  were  old  friends ! 
I  feel  his  loss  daily  even  more!  The  testimonials  still 
reaching  me  of  his  public  worth  and  esteem  are  sad 
reminders  of  our  loss!  It  is  natural  that  your  mother 
should  desire  to  return  to  the  land  of  her  birth!  She 
looks  toward  the  sunset  of  life!  I  am  sure  that  her 
interests  will  hot  suffer,  and  I  shall  assure  myself  that 
her  bankers  afford  every  facility  to  her  of  avoiding  in 
trusion  and  mere  detail!  But  you,  my  child,  are  a 
part  of  us!  You  call  up  to  those  who  knew  him,  your 
father.  I  wished  to  talk  alone  to  you  of  him,  and 
of  his  wishes  !  In  the  months  before  his  sudden  death 
his  very  heart  and  soul  seemed  to  be  wrapped  up  in 
your  future!  You  cannot  ignore  the  duties  of  your 
high  station  at  home  to  the  thousands  of  toilers,  to 
the  charities  David  Hartley  planted,  to  your  own  com 
munity.  For  you  are  an  uncrowned  princess  of  the 
Age  of  Gold !  I  would  not  wish  you  to  mingle  in  new 
scenes,  to  be  dazzled  by  a  differently  organized 
society,  to  gradually  lose  your  heritage  of  interest  in 
and  duty  to  the  army  still  marching  under  David  Hart 
ley's  draped  banners!" 

"I  am  thankful,  Judge!  I  will  have  you,  but  I  feel 
I  know,  at  last,  the  innermost  workings  of  my  dear 
father's  heart!  He  did  not  have  time  to  teach  me  to 
love  him,"  the  girl  bitterly  said, "money-slavery  claimed 
his  every  moment,  but  I  know  his  tenderness — too  late 
—too  late!" 

"How,  my  dear  child!"  cried  the  astonished  lawyer. 

"Doctor  Armytage  handed  me  a  sealed  packet  alter 


THE   ANARCHIST  35 

my  father's  death,"  softly  said  Evelyn.  "He  had  not 
confided  in  Rheingold  for  fear  the  kindly  German  might 
alarm  my  mother,  or  that  it  would  reach  me!  The 
words  of  gentle  love  he  penned  are  sacred !  I  can  only 
tell  you,  Judge,"  and  the  girl  smiled  through  her  tears, 
"that  he  bade  me  in  matters  affecting  the  estate  to  de 
pend  absolutely  on  your  judgment!  He  was  so  brave! 
So  self-denying!  If  I  could  have  only  told  him  once 
how  I  loved  him  for  his  thoughtful  words,  reaching 
me  after  he  had  passed  beyond  the  veil!  His  hard 
life  was  heroic,  a  protest  against  the  early  eclipse  of 
his  wonderful  talent!" 

"Do  Rheingold  and  your  mother  know  of  this?" 
asked  the  old  lawyer,  regarding  her  curiously. 

"Not  a  word  has  reached  them!"  replied  the  heiress. 

"Dr.  Rheingold  is  engrossed  with  my  mother's  case! 
and  it  is  strange  that  her  placid  nature  is  absolutely 
concentrated  on  herself!  I  feel  my  father's  last  con 
fidence  too  sacred  for  others!  It  is  all  mine!  My  own 
treasure!  I  doubt  even  if  my  mother  realizes  his  loss! 
It  was  a  singular  marriage!"  the  girl  mused.  "I  know 
no  one  who  could  have  been  so  absolutely  unsuited  to 
my  father  as  my  mother!" 

"Judge!  marriage  is  a  strange  relation!"  The  heir 
ess  was  dreaming! 

"It  is  the  modern  mystery!"  the  counselor  dryly 
said.  "Its  greatest  characteristic  seems  to  be  its  usual 
utter  uselessness  in  the  union  of  discordant  natures, 
warring  souls,  uncongenial  tempers  and  alien  tastes!" 

"What  causes  this?"   Evelyn  Hartley  was  earnest. 

"Because  modern  marriage  is  only  a  game  of  ego 
ism,  latent  or  expressed !  It  is  a  living  problem  of 
the  future  to  you,  my  child,  but  to  me  the  monument 
of  a  life's  mistake!" 


36  THE   ANARCHIST 

Wary  as  Wilkinson  Fox  could  be,  the  return  from 
the  drive  left  him  held  at  arm's  length  by  the  reserve 
which  seemed  to  seal  Evelyn  Hartley's  lips. 

"I  shall,  of  course,  yield  to  my  mother's  wish  to 
meet  all  those  who  are  of  kindred  blood!  We  shall 
spend  some  time  on  the  Continent,  but  my  own  future 
is  undetermined.  I  shall  follow  up  my  studies!  I  am 
not  tied  by  conventionality  to  any  human  being."  The 
heiress  was  his  match  in  self-control. 

"One  last  effort!"  thought  Judge  Fox,  as  he  realized 
that  his  review  of  the  whole  situation  left  him  in 
doubt.  He  suddenly  said,  "What  of  Professor  Stein? 
Do  you  see  him?"  The  heiress  quietly  answered,  "I 
believe  he  intends  to  spend  two  years  at  Lausanne,  en 
gaged  on  his  serious  work  on  the  "Political  Future  of 
the  German  Empire.  My  father's  legacy  enables  him 
to  use  that  period  in  his  researches.  Lausanne  and 
Heidelberg  are,  I  believe,  the  scenes  of  his  future 
employment.  " 

"Can  you  give  me  his  address?"  said  Fox,  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  "Brevoort". 

"I  presume  Dr.  Rheingold  c-an  send  it  to  you  at  any 
time.  They  are  great  friends!"  was  the  calm  rejoinder 
of  his  ward. 

"Till  to-morrow,  then,  at  the  steamer,"  concluded  the 
baffled  lawyer.  "She  is  indifferent  to  this  man,  it 
seems.  I  am  glad  to  know  they  have  drifted  away 
from  each  other. " 

The  aged  diplomat  did  not  observe  Professor  Carl 
Stein  gazing  at  his  retreating  carriage,  as  he  rolled  to 
ward  the  "Fifth  Avenue." 

"I  must  not  let  this  sly  busy-body  see  me  at  the 
wharf!"  muttered  Stein.  "Now  for  the  secretary.  My 
friend,  the  judge,  will  not  suspect  the  cause  of  his  ab 
sence.  I  will  sleep  on  the  'City  of  Paris'  to-night!" 


THE  ANARCHIST         .  37 

Carl  Stein's  brow  was  knitted  in  deepest  thought  as 
he  swiftly  strode  along  to  the  Cafe  Hungaria. 

"Ah!  There's  my  man,"  he  joyously  exclaimed,  as 
a  young  man  carelessly  lounged  toward  the  table  where 
Stein's  cup  of  coffee  was  an  excuse  for  dallying. 

"All  ready,  Professor!"  whispered  the  new-comer. 
"Shall,  we  walk  around  the  corner  to  Gramercy  Park?" 

"Certainly'/'  briskly  replied  Stein,  as  they  rose. 
"The  papers  are  complete?"  "He  searched  the  face  of 
his  companion  with  a  stern  gaze. 

"You'll  find  them  right!"  said  his  tool,  as  in  the 
secluded  by-street  the  faithless  secretary  gave  the  pro 
fessor  a  bulky  envelope.  A  few  moments  sufficed  for  a 
recognition  of  the  enclosures.  They  had  entered  a 
basement  groggery. 

"You  are  sure  the  schedule  is  correct?"  the  German 
said,  his  eyes  blazing  in  astonishment. 

"I  copied  it  from  the  engrossed  trust-deed  myself!" 
confidently  rejoined  the  clerk. 

"Just  count  that!  I  think  you  will  find  it  five  hun 
dred!"  coolly  remarked  Stein  as  he  carefully  hid  the 
papers  in  an  inside  pocket. 

"I  think  I  will  get  back!  It's  all  right!"  With  a 
careless  nod  the  Judas  disappeared. 

Carl  Stein,  with  furtive  glance,  noted  the  passers-by 
as  he  reached  his  hotel  by  a  tortuous  course. 

"Money!  money!  Concrete  force  of  the  modern 
world!  This  fortune  must  be  won  for  the  'Cause'! 
In  our  hands  it  would  arm  us  for  a  victorious  struggle! 
The  way!  The  means!  I  will  find  it!  It  must  be 
secured!"  His  gray  eyes  blazed  in  yellowish  flashes 
as  his  burning  thoughts  drove  him,  like  a  goad,  to  the 
shelter  of  his  chosen  retreat.  He  was  a  dreaming, human 
tiger  ! 


38  THE  ANARCHIST 

The  great  liner  slowly  swung  out  in  the  Hudson, 
under  sunniest  skies  on  the  morning  after  Wilkinson 
Fox  had  vainly  cross-examined  his  stately  ward,  under 
the  pleasing  subterfuge  of  a  Park  drive. 

When  the  "City  of  Paris"  gathering  headway,  quiv 
ered  under  the  impulse  of  the  huge  engines,  Evelyn 
Hartley  recalled  the  last  solemn  words  of  the  old  judge 
who  was  still  waving  his  parting  signal  on  the  pier. 

"My  dear  child!  May  God  speed  and  guard  you!" 
were  his  last  words  as  they  stood  alone,  for  Mrs.  Hartley 
was  already  settled  in  a  padded  chaise  longue,  under  the 
eyes  of  her  maid,  at  the  spot  of  minimum  nautical 
disturbances.  That  excellent  lady  was  buoyed  up  by  the 
realization  of  a  dream  of  years.  Her  return  to  Eng 
land  gave  that  resigned  invalid  new  hopes!  A  sense 
of  grateful  relief  seemed  to  accompany  the  removal 
of  that  energetic  nature — her  late  husband! 

"I  know  not  what  your  noble  father's  last  wishes 
were!"  said  the  lawyer  in  parting.  "It  is  for  your 
loyal  soul  to  prove  that  it  is  not  the  law  but  love 
which  binds!  May  your  life  be  all  he  would  have 
fondly  realized  had  his  tenderness  been  spared  to  you! 
I  shall  watch  you  from  afar!  But  you  are  now  going 
out  alone  on  the  unknown  seas  of  the  future!  Be  not 
too  trustful!  And — God  bless  you  always!" 

When  the  clanging  bell  left  her  alone,  Evelyn  Hart 
ley  sought  the  deck  from  whence  the  babel  of  the  New 
York  was  seen  in  the  brightness  of  the  golden  day. 

She  turned  her  eyes  westward  to  where  the  man, 
whose  memory  thrilled  her  now,  was  sleeping  by  the 
blue  lake ! 

Lonely  in  death,  as  in  life,  David  Hartley's  sleep 
was  dreamless,  by  the  side  of  his  little  son.t 

The   western  breeze   bore   to   her  his    message.     So 


THE   ANARCHIST  39 

strangely  thrilling  her  with  hope.  "Love  is  the  higher 
law!  Love  alone  leads  upward!  Avoid  the  shadow- 
paths  of  life!" 

And,  with  the  beauty  of  life's  morning  on  her  sweet 
face,  Evelyn  Hartley  looked  backward  in  vain,  when 
the  sun  sprang  up  from  its  gray  and  azure  Eastern 
bed. 

The  old  life  was  far  behind  her  now,  and  in  the 
cloudless  glow  of  morning  skies,  the  flying  ocean  won 
der  bore  her  on  to  the  unknown  future. 

"Such  a  pleasant  surprise,  Evelyn!"  equably  bab 
bled  Mrs.  Hartley  as  the  heiress  approached  the  coign 
of  vantage,  where  Dr.  Rheingold  had  marshalled  the 
daily  needs  and  conveniences  of  his  gentle  but  exact 
ing  patient.  It  was  the  peculiar  talent  of  Caroline 
Walton  Hartley  to  keep  her  entire  following  contin 
uously  employed  in  ministering  to  her  varied  neces 
sities. 

Evelyn  had  early  learned  the  benefit  of  a  judicious 
Fabian  policy,  and  a  physical  zone  added  to  the  social 
distance  of  mother  and  daughter.  Their  orbits  were 
concentric,  but  their  paths  were  separated  by  the  neu 
tral  ether  of  indifference. 

Rich  in  color,  glowing  in  beauty,  her  hands  clasp 
ing  the  first  livre  de  voyage,  so  hard  to  attack,  Miss 
Hartley  was  already  an  object  of  interest  to  a  distant 
knot  of  society  free  lances!  These  club  men,  running 
vainly  up  and  down  the  earth  were  visibly  excited  when 
Rennslaer  Hayward,  famed  for  varied  useless  acquire 
ments,  and  his  comet- like  social  path,  murmured  lazily  : 

"Rather  nice  woman!  Western  heiress!  Rolling 
mills  and  all  that — Miss  Hartley — saw  her  at  Cleve 
land  when  I  was  out  West  with  'Buster  Fox* — my 
classmate." 


40  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Deep  mourning!  Out  of  society  for  a  season.  Must 
find  out  how  the  land  lies !  I  wonder  who  knows 
them,"  mentally  noted  Arthur  Hobart,  who  had  an 
eye  to  a  "lass  wi'  a  tocher!" 

"Not  in  our  line  !  She  will  wind  up  in  lonely  grand 
eur  in  some  tumble-down  English  castle,  with  a  new 
title,  and  her  money  will  chink  up  the  old  walls!  Turn 
iron  into  stone,  then  a  gold  coronet!  That's  the  horo 
scope  I  cast!"  murmured  Jack  Manners,  who  was 
going  abroad  "on  general  principles. " 

The  "pleasant  surprise,  "in  the  mean  time,  was  stand 
ing,  hat  in  hand,  before  Miss  Evelyn  Hartley.  Carl 
Stein  noted  the  flush  of  angry  vexation  shading  the 
face  of  the  astonished  heiress.  "She  imagines  this  a 
personal  pursuit,"  he  quickly  decided.  "I  received 
advices  from  Heidelberg  which  decided  me  at  the  last 
moment  to  take  this  vessel.  My  private  preparations 
are  trifling  !  I  had  already  sent  my  books  and  papers 
over !" 

Evelyn  Hartley's  self-possession  had  returned.  She 
turned  her  frankly-honest  eyes  on  the  German  savant, 
as  if  in  haughty  wonder  at  his  labored  explanation. 

"It  promises  a  fair  passage!"  she  murmured.  "You 
are  a  gainer  by  your  sudden  resolve,  Doctor!"  There 
was  no  doubt  as  to  the  evident  desire  of  the  western 
beauty  for  solitude.  At  the  side  of  the  vessel  her 
steadfast  face  was  turned  backward  to  the  land  of  lib 
erty,  and  the  book  lay  idly  in  her  folded  hands. 

"An  ideal  Evangel  irte!"  thought  Stein,  on  whose 
ears  the  formal  word  "Doctor"  grated  unpleasantly 
punctilious  as  he  was  in  his  stubborn  German  eti 
quette. 

Evelyn  was  annoyed  at  Stein's  appearance.  To  meet 
him,  in  Europe,  wa,s  the  natural  sequence  of  his  three 


THE   ANARCHIST  4! 

years  supervision  of  her  advanced  studies.  The  que 
ries  of  her  old  guardian  returned  to  her  disturbed  mind ! 
A  dull  anger  took  possession  of  her,  as  she  observed 
the  professor  was  secretly  watching  her  every  move 
ment.  It  was  not  long  before  the  coterie  of  Colum 
bia's  keen  witted  sons  were  deprived  of  the  pleasant 
occupation  of  a  cold,  staring  study  of  her  points!  Sat 
isfied  that  the  flow  of  her  mother's  platitudes  indi 
cated  at  least  normal  vigor,  she  was  soon  lost  to  view. 
Stein,  quick-witted  and  cautious,  took  himself  to  a 
solitary  study  in  gray  and  white.  For  an  hour  he  sat 
staring  at  the  whirling  band  of  screaming  sea-birds 
in  the  foamy  wake.  The  stolen  papers  pressed  upon 
his  bosom,  and  a  sense  of  his  treachery  and  cowardice 
weighed  on  Stein,  as  he  marked  the  vanishing  of  the 
girl  he  was  secretly  following. 

"I  was  too  abrupt!  I  should  have  softened  the  sur, 
prise.  I  could  not  be  sure  until  I  had  the  schedule 
and  I  must  know  her  surroundings."  He  paced  the 
deck  in  gloomy  self-communion.  The  steady  light  of 
his  gray  eyes  was  unshaken  and  his  tread  defiant,  for 
he  growled:  "Is  she  on  her  guard?  Fox  does  not 
like  me!  I  shall  win  at  last!  I  must  conquer!  It  is 
for  the  Cause.  This  ocean  path  leads  on  to  victory, 
and  to  be  patient  is  torture!" 

For  the  sweep  of  the  wild  winds  singing  their  shrill 
menace  in  the  tautened  wires  of  the  rigging  was  no 
bolder  than  the  rushing  storm  of  pent-up  thoughts, 
dark  and  sinister,  surging  through  the  brain  of  the 
dauntless  materialist !  The  "City  of  Paris"  sturdily 
breasting  the  green  surges  of  the  Atlantic  was  bearing 
in  the  Hartley  hegira  an  invading  army  to  dissipate 
the  peaceful  autumnal  "dolce  far  niente'  of  Admiral 
Horatio  Walton's  life.  The  unbroken  calm  of  his  do- 


42  THE  ANARCHIST 

mestic  tranquillity  dated  from  the  fortuitous  demise  of 
the  spirited  Italian  countess  who  had  brought  a  grace 
ful  social  tempest  into  his  varied  existence.  To  a  long 
waltz  followed  by  a  moonlight  stroll  on  a  Neapolitan 
balcony  with  a  young  Austrian  attache",  he  owed  the 
effective,  if  sudden,  removal  of  a  lively  black-eyed  tor 
ment. 

On  the  particular  June  morning  when  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  arched  brows  contracted  ominously  at  the  sudden 
appearance  of  Carl  Stein  as  a  fellow-voyager,  Horatio 
Walton  was  deliberately  breakfasting  at  the  United 
Service  Club.  The  mechanical  precision  of  his  morn 
ing  social  guard  mount  was  only  interrupted  by  resent 
ful  glances  at  an  envelope  wherein  he  had  replaced 
the  cablegram  announcing  the  embarkation  of  his 
niece  and  her  mother. 

The  old  sailor's  carefully  trimmed  gray  whiskers  bris 
tled  in  anger.  His  Times  lay  neglected  at  his  side 
and  the  club  steward  gazed  earnestly  in  his  direction^ 
fearing  a  cyclonic  outbreak  of  the  admiral's  temper. 

"I  wonder  if  Caroline  retains  her  watchful  regard 
for  her  precious  self.  There  is  no  possible  advantage 
to  me  in  her  visit.  But  if  the  girl  is  manageable  and 
presentable  there  might  be — by  Jove,  there's  Beauford 
— the  very  man!"  Admiral  Walton's  hailing-sign  was 
effective,  for  a  tall,  good-looking  man  of  twenty-eight 
approached  with  a  pleasant  nod. 

In  a  few  moments  the  new-comer  had  fathomed  the 
secret  of  Walton's  anxiety. 

Beauford,  whose  name  as  Lord  Alfred  Beauford,  the 
yachtsman,  hunter,  and  dilettante  explorer  was  a  wel 
come  theme  for  the  London  journalists,  showed  the 
varied  experiences  of  his  life  of  adventure,  in  a  hard 
glint  of  his  blue  eye,  a  touch  of  the  tell-tale  crow's 


THE  ANARCHIST  43 

foot,  and  a  cynic  line  here  and  there  accentuating  his 
handsome  face. 

"Of  course  there'll  be  bother — no  end!  But  your 
duties  should  be  light.  Representative  head  of  family 
and  all  that  !  Localize  them,  and  you  can  keep  up 
your  own  set.  They  will  soon  make  their  way  into  the 
set  that  opens  its  arms  to  rich  Yankees." 

"Exactly,  but  that  is  not  in  the  plan.  Caroline  wants 
to  take  a  nice  place  in  Yorkshire  for  two  or  three  sea 
sons.  She  never  cared  for  London.  The  girl  is  seri 
ous!  Moreover,  they  will  be  on  the  continent  a  great 
deal.  It's  there  I  come  in  as  cicerone  and  family  men 
tor!  I  heard  you  are  going  on  a  long  tour.  Would 
you  let  the  Priory?" 

Beauford  flushed  at  the  direct  inquiry. 

"There  never  has  been  a  stranger  at  Jervaux  yet!  I 
must  think  it  over,  Admiral!  I  have  had  a  fancy  for 
a  ride  through  Thibet,  Kashgar,  and  there  working 
along  the  Russo-Chinese  frontier,  out  to  the  Pacific 
by  Mantchuria  and  Korea.  It  would  be  a  matter  of  two 
years  or  more.  Pve  done  about  all  the  rest.  I  should 
not  care  to  have  a  mob  of  people  overrun  the  old 
place." 

"See  here,  Beauford,  I  was  going  to  write  to  your 
solicitors.  My  sister  Caroline  always  fancied  Jervaux 
Priory.  Her  letters,  in  fact,  named  it.  Her  wealth 
is  enormous.  I  have  carte  blanche  from  her !  She 
would  buy  a  place,  if  I  so  advised,  but  their  circle 
would  be  quiet!  I  would  like  the  refusal  of  the  Priory, 
if  you  contemplate  long  absence  and  have  abjured  mat 
rimony!" 

"Tell  me  of  the  late  Hartley!  Was  he  a  gentleman?" 
The  young  nobleman  was  faintly  curious. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  would  call  a  gentleman  in 


44  THE  ANARCHIST 

the  States,  rejoined  Walton,  puzzled.  "Hartley  was 
a  fine  fellow.  He  began  life  a  poor  lad  and  ended  a 
multi-millionaire,  a  world-famed  inventor,  and  a  leader 
of  his  community.  His  charities  and  public  endow 
ments  would  do  credit  to  a  prince!  And  he  would  have 
further  aided  the  working  classes  but  his  sudden  death 
cut  off  these  projects  in  the  bud.  There  seems  to  be 
no  real  difference  of  station  in  America.  And  there  the 
fatal  fires  of  discord  will  be  fed  in  the  envy  of  those 
who  see  their  equals  rise  to  kingly  power  by  the  magic 
of  money. " 

"There  seems  to  be  no  real  permanence  in  American 
society,"  remarked  Beauford,  "at  least  I  so  fancied 
in  my  brief  runs  over  the  States.  The  men  are  over 
taxed  strugglers  in  the  money  maelstrom.  The 
women  madly  vying  in  display  and  patrician  luxury 
foreign  to  a  merely  commercial  community.  American 
men  are  harsh,  unrefined,  and  vastly  inferior  to  their 
women.  The  weaker  sex  find  time  for  the  shadowy 
show  of  their  unreal  social  world.  They  struck  me  as 
merciless  in  their  demands,  frankly  unbridled  in  their 
daring  dissipations  and  callously  indifferent  to  the  des 
perate  gamesters  in  the  wild  sea  of  speculation  whose 
names  they  bear.  It  is  strange  their  women  throw 
themselves  so  eagerly  into  the  arms  of  foreigners." 

The  young  nobleman  paused. 

"It  is  because  they  realize  the  absolute  hollowness 
of  the  pretense  of  a  settled  American  society.  In  a 
generation  the  same  woman  may  run  the  gamut  of  the 
social  scale.  Money  always  rehabilitates  in  America," 
said  Admiral  Walton.  "The  women  have  caught  the 
advantages  of  marriage  into  a  permanently  graded  Eu 
ropean  society.  With  their  quick  wit,  they  exchange 
their  gold  for  the  highest  titles  they  can  reach,  regard- 


THE  ANARCHIST  45 

less  of  the  results  of  the  bargain.  They  know  their 
children  will  have  a  real  station  protected  by  law.  If 
they  trusted  their  money  to  brothers,  agents,  and  peo 
ple  at  home,  they  might  be  robbed  of  it  and  then 
have  neither  station  nor  money." 

"They4 do  not  get  much  happiness  out  of  foreign  mar 
riages,  Walton,"  mused  the  junior. 

"Strange  to  say,  Beauford,  American  women  do  not 
need  much  personal  happiness!  Give  them  precedence, 
get  them  out  of  America,  the  mere  fact  of  their  per. 
manent  translation  is  the  crown  of  life's  victory." 

"I  must  say  I  despise  the  smart  set  of  American 
women  for  their  cold  disloyalty  to  a  land  whose  flexible 
institutions  have  raised  them  by  happy  accident  to  the 
ease  of  queenly  place  with  no  responsibilities.  They 
leave  their  land  with  no  regret,  the  men  struggle  on 
and  satisfy  themselves  with  secondary  marriages  at 
home!  It  can't  last!  The  whole  shabby  genteel  Amer 
ican  social  system  of  successful  plutocracy  has  to  meet 
its  day  of  doom  !  In  this  last  generation,  the  accumu 
lated  labor  of  thousands,  piled  up  year  by  year,  in  the 
gorged  pockets  of  the  Yankee  money-lords,  is  being 
transferred  to  Europe  by  the  title  hunting  throng  of 
American  women  of  independent  fortunes,  heaped  up 
by  the  men  who  die  of  paresis  or  snuff  out  their  lives 
in  overwork  like  poor  Hartley.  I  must  say,  Beau- 
ford,"  the  old  admiral  cried,  in  conclusion,  "I  don't 
like  America.  The  things  admirable  there  are  un 
familiar  to  me!  The  unrest,  vulgarity  and  sham  of 
their  society,  the  unscrupulousness  of  their  press,  the 
absolute  lack  of  a  foreign  policy,  the  rush  and  rattle 
of  their  daily  life,  are  all  things  distasteful  to  me! 
Most  of  all  these  heartless  women  throwing  themselves 
into  the  arms  of  titled  aliens!  Even  mature  women 


46  THE  ANARCHIST 

vie  with  the  callow  heiress  in  this  national  woman 
treason!  Their  men  certainly  are  inferior  in  social 
dash  to  these  falcons  of  our  day  but,  they  are  true  to 
their  gridiron  flag!  The  whole  thing  has  got  to  go  by 
the  board!  Europe  is  pouring  its  worst  and  most  dan 
gerous  classes  over  there  yearly  by  the  scores  of  thou 
sands.  Unless  some  national  scare  shall  inaugurate  a 
spasm  of  Russian-like  repression,  Yankee  land  will  be 
the  chosen  battle-ground  of  the  anarchist!  The  weak 
temporary  pavilion  of  Liberty  will  fall  and  crush  its 
inmates!" 

Beauford  was  vastly  amused  as  he  finished  his  hock 
and  soda. 

"You  may  be  right,  Walton,  whatever  American 
women  may  have  to  boast  of,  they  are  both  hasty  and 
heartless!  And  your  niece,  Evelyn  Hartley,  is  she 
chasing  a  coronet?" 

"Strange  to  say,'  Beauford,  Pm  told  she  is  a  charm 
ing  woman  and  has  inherited  much  of  her  father's 
genius  and  force  of  character.  God  knows  she  did  not 
get  either  from  poor  Caroline!  I  am  interested  in 
her!"  The  admiral  showed  signs  of  weighing  anchor. 

"She  is  not  inclined  to  a  profession,  or  publicity? 
Does  she  lecture  or  lead  the  world  on  toward  better 
things?  I  have  met  some  insufferably  uncertain  Amer 
ican  cranks  and  freaks  wildly  misnamed  'earnest 
women!'  your  'earnest  American  woman' is  usually  an 
indefatigable  common  scold!" 

Beaufort  was  quizzing  the  old  sailor. 

"I  really  believe,  Lord  Alfred,"  rejoined  the  mari 
ner,  "that  she  is  satisfied  with  being  Evelyn  Hart 
ley,  and,  from  her  graceful  and  gentle  face,  her  spirited 
letters,  I  think  she  is  a  woman  to  know." 

"I  should  like  to  verify  your  pleasant  anticipations. 


THE  ANARCHIST  47 

There  are  many  beautiful  American  women,hard,  bright, 
and  snappy.  They  are  too  eager,  too  restless,  too  self- 
assertive,  "  Beauford  slowly  said.  "Their  absence  of 
manner  does  not  imply  unfamiliarity  with  social  cus 
toms.  It  only  indicates  their  social  skepticism,  their 
morbid  love  of  change  and  their  distrust  of  the  fixed 
ness  of  even  the  most  prominent  position  at  home!  It 
seems  to  me  the  men  push  each  other  out,  and  these 
self-crowned  queens  fall  with  them !  What  becomes  of 
them  in  the  lightning  changes  of  American  fortune, 
Admiral?" 

Walton  seized  his  hat  and  umbrella  and  paused  for 
a  reply.  "God  alone  knows!  I  do  not!  I  suppose 
they  are  as  adaptable  in  sliding  down  the  social  scale 
as  in  creeping  up.  I  have  never  met  a  superior  Euro 
pean  woman  who  deliberately  married  an  American! 
The  unquestioned  merit  of  many  American  men  goes 
for  naught;  and  certainly  the  freedom  of  woman,  as  to 
property,movement,  and  personal  volition  should  tempt 
a  class  of  superior  foreign  women  to  America.  Strange 
to  say  it  does  not!  And  the  advantages  of  such 
attempts  are  evident!  It  is  from  European  women  of 
the  humbler  classes  the  American  nation  is  recruited. 
There  is  a  material  betterment  in  the  motto:  'West 
ward,  Ho!'  a  social  one,  never!  America  is  un- Amer 
icanizing  itself  rapidly.  It  apes  foreign  society  rules 
founded  on  conditions  wJiich  do  not  exist  there!  And 
it  is  the  spirit  of  Yankee-land  which  withers  the  con 
servatism  needed  to  build  up  a  solidified  people.  With 
little  encouragement  from  nature,  in  frozen  Canada, 
the  social  plan  of  England  is  yearly  perfecting!  A 
pathless  ocean  seems  to  separate  Canada  and  the 
States!" 

"To  what  do   you   attribute   the   American  social 


48  THE   ANARCHIST 

unrest?"  said  Beauford  gravely  as  the  two  men  saun 
tered  from  the  club. 

"To  the  subordination  of  everything  to  money  !  Noth 
ing  is  real  in  America  but  the  money-getting  craze, 
and  every  human  game  in  Yankee-land  has  its  objective 
point  in  a  final  money  victory  or  defeat,"  the  sailor 
stoutly  said.  "Hartley  killed  himself  for  his  money. 
Evelyn  will  be  hunted  systematically  in  America  for 
her  money!  See  here,  Beauford,  I  expect  you  to 
meet  my  sister.  She's  a  Yorkshire  woman  you  must 
know,  and  don't  forget  to  think  about  Jervaux. " 

"Most  willingly,  Admiral,  I  am  curious  to  see  your 
niece  also  as  the  one  American  woman  who  is  yet  a 
charming  possibility.  I  shall  be  in  town  till  after  their 
arrival  and  it  goes  without  saying,  I  will  be  glad  to 
have  you  visit  the  Priory." 

"Bright  fellow,  Beauford,"  mused  Admiral  Walton, 
as  the  stately  young  patrician  disappeared.  "It  is  a 
pity  he  has  no  definite  aim  in  life!"  Horatio  Walton's 
definite  aim  was  to  disembarrass  himself  gracefully  of 
the  general  affairs  of  his  gently  exigent  sister!  "I 
must  run  down  to  Liverpool  and  meet  them !  Caroline, 
I  suppose,  is  more  than  ordinarily  helpless,  and  Eve 
lyn  must  be  looked  to.  Her  fortune,  her  youth  can  not 
be  too  jealously  guarded!" 

And  on  the  swaying  deck  of  the  great  liner,  near  the 
orphaned  heiress,  in  patient,  plotting  self-counsel,  the 
falcon  eyes  of  Carl  Stein  were  reading  the  stars  as  he 
dreamed  of  the  victory  of  the  "Cause  without  a  Name," 
— the  awful  propaganda  whose  flag  is  a  crimson  stain! 
His  heart  was  tied  by  all  the  madness  of  a  perverted 
nature  on  the  unspoken  code  whose  sequence  is  the 
doom  of  modern  society.  "Revolution — Destruction 
— Annihilation." 


THE    ANARCHIST  49 

Carl  Stein's  life  had  been  a  bitter  struggle!  His 
boyhood  was  stern  and  unlovely.  Self-nurtured,  in  spite 
of  poverty's  grinding  attrition,  the  mature  intellect  of 
the  man  swept  the  whole  field  of  human  knowledge. 
Despising  the  jingle  of  phraseology,  the  glittering  var 
nish  of  self-evolved  eloquence,  his  mind  was  braced  to 
the  conflict  of  great  thought.  An  omnivorous  rea 
der,  a  robust  thinker,  an  acute  observer  of  his  fellow- 
men,  his  heart  was  embittered  by  the  passions  of  a 
high-souled  scorn  of  self-crowned  aristocracy,  unslaked 
revenge,  and  a  black  hatred  surged  in  his  heart  as  he 
recalled  the  fate  of  his  father.  Moritz  Stein's  birth  as 
a  member  of  the  burgher  class,  had  held  his  splendid 
talents  under  the  yoke  of  subjection  to  the  supercilious 
petty  nobles  of  his  native  Saxony.  With  eyes  flashing 
in  defiance,  the  ardent  thinker  had  followed,  mutely, 
the  swaggering  officers  and  waterfly  court  officials  of 
years! 

Maddened  with  the  ills  of  his  time,  crazed  with  the 
fever  of  forty-eight,  it  was  a  fitting  close  to  Moritz 
Stein's  unhappy  life,  that  his  life-blood  stained  the 
paving  stones  of  Dresden,  when  desperate  Bakunin 
screamed  "Never  mind  the  houses!  Let  them  be  blown 
into  the  air!"  Stein  was  dead  before  Michael  Bakunin 
led  the  remnant  of  his  devoted  followers  to  Friberg! 
On  the  loth  of  May,  1849,  at,  Chemnitz,  the  fetters 
closed  on  the  arch-anarchists  wrists.  The  world's 
boldest  soul  languished  ten  years  in  gloomy  Konigstein 
— in  the  awful  underground  casemates  of  "Peter  and 
Paul's"  fortress  on  the  icy  Neva,  or  in  the  Wilds  of 
Siberia! 

When  Bakunin  fled  under  the  "Stars  and  Stripes" 
from  Siberia  to  Japan,  and  touched  American  soil,  he 
found,  in  1861,  the  United  States  filled  with  the  vet- 


5O  THE   ANARCHIST 

erans  of  Irish,  Italian,  Hungarian,  German,  and  Rus 
sian  Revolution  as  well  "as  the  crazed  fugitives  of 
French  revolt! 

Even  the  arch-prophet  of  Destruction  dared  not  to 
fulminate  as  yet  his  terrific  creed  of  the  utter  annihi 
lation  of  society,  state,  the  church,  aristocracy  and 
accumulated  wealth! 

While,  after  wearying  out  England's  hospitality 
(finding  the  United  States  not  ripe  for  revolution), 
the  father  of  Nihilism  abetted  the  Polish  rising  of '63, 
and  deserted  by  Herzen,  Marx,  Ogareff,  and  Kelsieff, 
threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  the  International  Soci 
ety,  the  orphaned  son  of  Moritz  Stein  was  crawling 
out  of  the  misery  of  his  childhood. 

Embittered  by  his  father's  death,  struggling  through 
the  University  of  Heidelberg,  where  his  splendid  tal 
ents  could  not  be  concealed,  Carl  Stein,  in  the  ardor 
of  a  wild  youth,  cast  himself  into  Bakunin's  power  at 
Lausanne,  in  September,  1867, 

There,  in  the  safe  retreat,  guarded  by  the  snowy  ram 
parts  of  the  Alps, -Carl  Stein  learned  from  the  lips  of 
his  father's  "destroying  prophet,"  the  details  of  his 
sire's  dying  hours. 

His  legacy  of  hatred  was  increased  by  a  mysterious 
influence,  denying  him  a  professorship  at  the  Univer 
sity  of  Berlin, when  the  brilliant  young  German  scholar 
was  called  later  to  Bakunin's  dying  bed  at  Berne  in 
1878.  Carl  Stein  well  knew  that  the  hostile  action 
was  a  punishment  for  his  father's  bold  stand,  as  well 
as  his  own  suspected  relations  with  the  nihilistic  prop 
aganda! 

"Turn  your  eyes,  Carl,  to  the  United  States!"  said 
the  moribund  conspirator.  "Here  we  have  to  fight 
despotism  in  Russia,  aristocracy  on  the  Continent, 


THE   ANARCHIST  5! 

feudal  conservatism  in  England  !  The  Latin  races  are 
not  capable  of  continued  self-devotion!  Here  the  army, 
church,  and  upper  classes  can  only  be  reached  by  grad 
ual  disaffection!  We  must  sow  the  seeds  of  Revolu 
tion  and  educate  generations!  In  America  there  is  but 
one  engine  of  power — Gold ! —  There  is  no  actual 
repression  there!  The  tyranny  is  of  the  plutocrat  alone ! 
Without  money,  you  can  never  fight  the  battles  of  the 
cause  in  America!  Go  there,  my  best  disciple!  Your 
talents  will  lead  you  into  higher  circles!  Let  your 
objective  point  be  one  great  fortune!  If  you,  Carl 
Stein,  can  find  one  golden  heap  unguarded,  pour  out 
its  yellow  flood  in  action!  Money  is  the  ammunition 
of  your  battle  there!  The  stolen  dollars,  robbed  from 
the  toiler,  may  be,  in  your  hands,  the  grape-shot  of  a 
last  forlorn  stand!  I  am  wearied!  Hegel's  philoso 
phy,  Kant's  and  Fichte's  dreaming  will  not  alone  over 
turn  the  social  system!  In  America,  the  press,  place, 
the  ballot — all  can  be  bought!  Devote  your  life  to 
the  attack  on  one  great  fortune!  Win  it  for  your 
cause!  Here,  the  Italian  and  French  secret  societies, 
the  Polish,  German,  and  Russian  brotherhoods  are 
provincial  and  bounded  by  racial  lines!  The  'Inter 
national'  has  dropped  into  the  rut  of  a  mere  squabble 
over  hours,  privileges,  and  wages  !  Revolution,  utter 
annihilation  of  all  the  trammels  of  state,  church  and 
society  alone  will  lead  to  the  freedom  of  enslaved 
humanity.  Go  and  trust  to  yourself  alone.  Fear,  bri 
bery,  ambition,  may  conquer  others!  Son  of  my  truest 
friend,  you  are  my  chosen  disciple!  You  are  as  high 
in  the  councils  of  Revolution  as  man  can  climb!  Go 
and  light  the  Holy  Fire." 

These  boyhood  memories,  these  awful  counsels  stirred 
Carl  Stein's  steadfast  soul  as  the  steamer  leaped  over 


52  THF    ANARCHIST 

the  wave!  Courteous  and  deferential,  he  had  disarmed 
Evelyn  Hartley's  suspicions!  The  lonely  heiress  turned 
to  the  brilliant  companionship  of  the  gifted  free-lance! 

When  Fastnet  Light  cast  its  cheering  ray  over  the 
black  waters  of  the  Irish  coast,  Stein  communed  with 
the  stars  rising  from  the  mystic  East,  whence  the 
waves  of  humanity  have  followed  the  sun  westward. 

"Can  she  be  gained  over?  Strange  woman!  An 
unawakened  Galatea!  She  would  never  waken  to  life 
under  my  wooing!  Another! — One  of  the  brother 
hood!"  He  paced  the  deck  in  deepest  thought!  "She 
is  defenseless,  inexperienced!  Her  mother  a  petted 
self-indulgent  fool!  The  old  lawyer  will  delve  with  the 
property!  This  admiral?  He  will  have  his  scheme! 
Pure  revolution  would  appall  her!  She  loves  that 
shadowy  ideal  called  'her  country  I'  To  make  her  the 
priestess  of  a  new  era!  To  regenerate  and  lift  up!  To 
be  a  representative  great  American  woman!  Dare  I 
counsel  at  Lausanne  with  the  'Great  Council!'  The 
fame  of  her  fortune  would  precede  her!  Others  would 
spread  their  nets!  With  Switzerland,  our  only  safe 
base  of  operations,  she  would  be  too  near  us.  In  Ger 
many,  I  might  retain  my  social  intimacy!  The  years  of 
toil  have  thrown  this  fortune  almost  within  my  grasp! 
The  money — the  women,  do  we  need  them  both.  They 
will  settle  in  England  !  I  must  contrive  to  be  made  one 
of  their  circle.  Can  I  watch  her  from  Switzerland?  I 
must!  The  time  is  ripe!  Her  money,  in  our  hands, 
would  carry  our  penniless  'advance  guard*  into  the 
field  of  action!  It  must  be  done,  The  millions  shall 
be  ours!" — But  the  stars  swept  on  in  silence! 


CHAPTER     III 

A  FAMILY  CONSPIRACY — THE  SECRET  COUNCIL  AT  LAUSANNE 
— THE   GOSPEL  OF    DESTRUCTION 

"SHALL  we  stay  here  forever,  uncle?  I  am  tired  of 
this  inactivity!  This  house  might  as  well  be  on  the 
rock  of  St.  Helena!" 

Admiral  Walton  laid  down  his  Times  and  glanced 
curiously  at  Miss  Evelyn  Hartley,  who  was  nervously 
tapping  her  foot  as  she  gazed  out  of  a  window  in  the 
Grand  Hotel  at  London.  The  driving  rain  hid  even 
the  gloomy  beauties  of  the  Nelson  Column,  and  the 
British  Public,  pouring  by,  was  represented  by  a  pro 
cession  of  funereal  umbrellas,  concealing  the  motley 
crowd. 

"Open-handed  mutiny,"  thought  the  wily  old  sailor. 
"I  knew  it  would  come!"  His  voice  was  coaxingly 
bland  as  he  answered,  "Let  us  confer  a  bit  over  our 
breakfast!" 

The  dissatisfied  heiress  turned  a  bright  face  toward 
him  as  they  entered  their  private  dining-room  and 
seated  themselves. 

Three  weeks  had  passed  since  the  imposing  retinue 
of  the  Hartleys  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  aristo 
cratic  privacy  of  the  great  caravansera.  A  thorough 
entente  cordial  had  been  established  from  the  very 
moment  when  the  admiral  led  the  distinguished-looking 
beauty  down  the  gang  plank  to  the  tug  in  the  Mersey. 
The  veteran,  his  manners  refined  and  lightened  by 

53 


54  THE   ANARCHIST 

travel ,  his  mind  a  treasure-house  of  fifty  years  of  study 
and  experience,  charmed  the  lonely  girl  whose  beauty 
and  freshness  lit  up  his  purposeless  days.  Horatio 
Walton  had  crystallized  into  the  classic  egotism  of  the 
London  "habitue\  "  But  the  influence  of  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  rich  young  womanhood  swept  the  silent  chords 
of  a  forgotten  youth !  The  rush  of  her  romantic  ardor 
stirred  his  nature  as  the  breeze  of  spring  moves  the 
withered  branches  of  a  silent  forest. 

"Has  your  mother  decided  upon  anything?"  he 
remarked  tentatively,  gazing  at  the  anxious  eyed 
beauty. 

"I  believe,  after  Doctor  Rheingold's  exhaustive  study 
of  the  subject,  she  will  finally  decide  on  Askern 
Waters.  She  wishes  to  renew  her  Yorkshire  mem 
ories  but  what  is  to  become  of  us?  I  will  not  be 
immured  in  that  obscure  corner !  You  must  devise  a 
plan!" 

"Have  you  mentioned  your  own  feelings  on  this 
subject  to  her?"  quietly  said  Walton,  as  his  niece 
paused,  a  bright  glow  of  defiant  indignation  bringing 
the  roses  to  her  cheek. 

"No!"  replied  Evelyn.  "Her  whole  life  has  been  a 
record  of  self-satisfaction.  My  dear  father  left  her  to 
her  own  devices!  She  never  consulted  him!  To  con 
sider  my  future  for  a  moment,  to  follow  anything  but 
her  own  caprices  or  the  advice  of  Rheingold,  would 
be  an  impossibility!" 

"Poor  Hartley!"  muttered  Walton,  as  he  addressed 
himself  to  his  tea-cup.  "And  this  Doctor  fellow? 
How  long  has  he  been  your  mother's  guardian  angel?" 

"It  is  a  matter  of  years!"  shortly  said  the  heiress. 
The  subject  was  evidently  distasteful. 

"Caroline  is  a  singular  being,"  mused  the  admiral. 


in  r     \*-:  \  K<  Hist  55 

"The  same  unvarying  sweetness,  an  unshakable  men 
tal  indolence,  yet  ever  this  cat-like  watchfulness  in 
carrying  every  point!  How  shall  we  act  in  this,  my 
child?  It  is  useless  to  take  your  mother  into  our  coun 
cils!" 

"If  she  were  settled  in  her  own  establishment,  we 
might  travel,"  quickly  responded  Evelyn.  "You  could 
go  abroad  with  me.  It  would  be  easy  to  find  some 
business  pretext  of  your  own,  I  cannot  see  the  United 
Kingdom  while  under  her  dominion.  I  long  for 
storied  France,  and  old  Germany,  and  Italy,  always 
Italy!  Every  lake  of  Switzerland  is  pictured  in  my 
mind!  You  must  remember  this  is  my  first  voyage. 
The  world  I  have  longed  to  see  lies  before  me!" 

The  admiral  bent  his  calm  blue  eyes  kindly  on  the 
impulsive  girl's  face.  "Give  me  an  hour  to  think  it 
over.  I  will  take  a  run  down  to  the  club.  This  after 
noon  we  can  have  a  conference.  Then  I  will  see  your 
mother." 

Horatio  Walton  hesitated  to  tell  his  niece  how  wide 
the  gulf  was  in  heart  between  himself  and  the  hand 
some  hypochondriac  whose  social  day  was  limited  to 
a  few  formal  appearances.  Years  of  absence  had  only 
intensified  the  differences  which  had  held  the  brother 
and  sister  apart  in  long  years  of  increasing  indiffer 
ence. 

"Take  me  away,  out  into  the  real  world  !  The  world 
of  life  and  light,  of  thought  and  olden  story !  I 
will  not  offer  up  my  youth  on  the  altar  of  this  monu 
mental  selfishness!"  said  the  girl  as  the  admiral  took 
his  leave. 

"By  Jove!  I  must  make  a  diversion  here,"  reflected 
Walton  as  he  stepped  into  his  cab.  "There  is  the 
energy  of  a  Maria  Theresa  now  in  Evelyn's  fresh  heart. 


56  THE   ANARCHIST 

She  shall  be  free  from  the  clinging  trammels  which 
tied  down  her  father's  nature  with  the  inertia  of  this 
dead  weight  of  selfishness!" 

Horatio  Walton  fumed  over  his  cheroot  as  he  looked 
over  his  letters  in  the  club  smoking-room.  "Ha!  A 
letter  from  Beauford!  Here  may  be  relief!  Victory!" 
he  gayly  cried,  as  he  finished  the  nobleman's  note. 
"Now!  Jervaux  Priory  is  only  seven  miles  from  Ask- 
ern.  If  I  can  interest  Caroline,  she  may  find  occupa 
tion  for  her  shallow  pride  in  queening  it  in  one  of  the 
finest  places  in  the  county !  That  will  give  us  our 
freedom!" 

The  sailor  was  cheerful  as  he  indited  a  few  lines. 
"I  will  prepare  the  way,  and  the  rest  can  be  left  to  her 
own  vanity." 

Evelyn  Hartley  was  impatient  when,  on  his  return, 
Horatio  Walton  boldly  ventured  upon  a  momentous 
interview  with  the  exacting  invalid. 

"Leave  alf  to  me,  my  child.  I  will  return  in  victory!" 
he  cried  in  parting,  bearing  the  hopes  of  the  young 
heiress. 

With  a  gently  dissimulated  interest  in  her  affairs, 
Walton  laid  the  subject  of  the  lease  of  the  "Priory11 
before  his  sister.  He  urged  it  long  as  she  furtively 
watched  him. 

"Just  the  place  for  you,  Caroline.  You  see  Beauford 
says  his  solicitors  are  authorized  to  let  it  for  one  year, 
or  two,  if  so  desired.  There  you  will  have  every 
advantage!  It's  the  very  spot  I  would  have  chosen  for 
you!  Beauford  will  do  anything  I  ask  him  personally 
to  make  it  agreeable!"  He  waited  the  effect  of  his 
discourse.  "Shall  I  write  him  on  your  behalf?" 

The  sailor  was   on  the  tenter  hooks    of   impatience. 

"I  do  not  know!     I  can  scarcely  face  the  subject  so 


THE    ANARCHIST  57 

quickly.     I  must  have  Doctor    Rheingold's   opinion," 
placidly  replied  the  listener. 

"We  can  not  linger  here  forever  in  this  gloomy 
hotel,"  answered  Walton.  "I  certainly  can  not  leave 
Evelyn  alone  here  with  your  secluded  ways  of  life! 
My  affairs  call  me  abroad  for  the  winter  and  I  must 
soon  leave  you!" 

There  was  a  steely  protest  in  the  glitter  of  Caroline 
Walton's  eyes. 

"And  Evelyn  will  be  almost  useless  to  me  in  this 
land,  strange  to  her.  It  is  so  inconsiderate  of  you  to 
leave  me  helpless  when  we  have  been  so  long  sepa 
rated,  Horatio!" 

The  cat-like  voice  purred  on  unheeded. 

A  grave  frown  bent  the  sailor's  eyebrows. 

"Do  you  intend  to  tie  Evelyn  to  your  side  forever? 
Have  you  no  thought  of  her  daily  life — her  future?" 

Walton's  voice  was  cold.  He  feared  not  the  battle 
after  the  first  gun! 

"My  daughter  will  remain  in  her  proper  place — near 
me,  to  render  my  existence  as  tolerable  as  I  can  hope," 
answered  the  widow,  drawing  the  folds  of  her  Indian 
shawl  closer. 

"Have  you  ascertained  her  wishes?"  said  the  admiral, 
with  kindling  eyes. 

"I  have  never  considered  it  necessary  to  yield  to  my 
child,"  replied  the  lady  with  austerity. 

Admiral  Walton's  answer  was  to  touch  the  bell. 

"Wilson,  please  ask  Miss  Hartley  to  favor  me  with 
her  company  a  moment,"  he  slowly  remarked. 

The  look  of  horror  was  still  on  Mrs.  Hartley's  face 
when  Evelyn  entered. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,  my  child,  to  tell  you  that  I 
shall  be  called  to  the  Continent  and  shall  probably 


58  THE   ANARCHIST 

pass  the  season  and  winter  in  Italy,  Switzerland,  and 
Germany.  Your  mother  proposes,  I  believe,  to  re 
main  indefinitely  here.  Do  you  wish  to  go  with  me?" 

With  an  unflinching  look  of  quiet  determination  the 
heiress  answered,  "Certainly,  uncle,  if  you  desire  it!" 

"I  do  most  heartily,"  cried  Walton,  as  he  observed 
the  symptoms  of  hysterics  gathering  on  the  face  of 
Mrs.  Hartley,  convulsed  with  an  honestly  expressed 
rage. 

"JLet  us  retire,  Evelyn!"  firmly  continued  the  victo 
rious  conspirator.  "Wilson,  you  might  as  well  sum 
mon  Doctor  Rheingold!" 

"The  breach  is  not  widened,  my  dear  niece!  It  is 
only  your  declaration  of  independence!"  said  Walton, 
as  the  escaping  pair  reached  Evelyn's  boudoir.  "You 
must  not  complicate  your  position  by  discussion. 
Leave  all  to  me.  You  may  as  well  choose  your  route 
in  Murray  now.  It  will  be  a  revelation  to  your  mother 
to  face  the  realities  of  life!" 

With  a  frightened  face  Mrs.  Hartley's  maid  begged 
an  interview  on  behalf  of  Doctor  Rheingoid. 

"Show  the  gentleman  in,  Wilson!"  quietly  said  the 
admiral,  glancing  warningly  at  her  as  he  spoke. 

Standing  erect  in  his  quarter-deck  attitude,  Horatio 
Walton  buttoned  his  Prince  Albert  in  a  most  formal 
manner.  An  exquisite  courtesy  froze  the  bustling 
excited  visitor  as  he  hurried  in. 

"In  what  can  I  be  of  service  to  you,  sir?"  placidly 
questioned  the  admiral.  His  perfect  self-possession, 
the  evident  lack  of  interest  disconcerted  the  eager 
Teuton. 

"I  came  to  see  you,  sir,  on  behalf  of  Mrs.  Hartley," 
he  stammered. 

"In  regard  to  what  subject,  may  I  venture  to  ask?" 


tHE   ANARCHIST  59 

the  sailor  said  with  a  cold  gleam  of  his  keen  blue 
eye,  standing  at  ease,  his  eye-glasses  in  hand,  every 
line  of  his  body,  every  detail  of  his  costume  indicated 
the  man  of  "savoir  faire. " 

"In  relation  to  Miss  Hartley,  I  am  requested — " 

"Pardon  me,  sir!"  coldly  remarked  the  listener. 
"I  believe  you  are  Mrs.  Hartley's  private  medical 
adviser,  and  in  charge  of  her  health.  As  Miss  Hartley's 
guardian,  I  distinctly  object  to  any  interference  on 
your  part  in  her  affairs.  My  solicitors  will  forward 
any  correspondence  to  me,  my  address  will  be  always 
found  at  my  bankers." 

With  an  appealing  glance  at  the  heiress  who  was 
mutely  regarding  Nelson  perched  on  his  column,  the 
medical  man  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

The  tidal  train  of  the  next  evening  bore  uncle  and 
niece  to  Dover.  Evelyn  Hartley  was  troubled  in  her 
inmost  soul  as  she  saw  the  "silver  streak"  before  her. 

Though  the  dreamland  of  romance,  arts,  and  arms 
lay  before  her,  there  was  a  bitter  drop  in  her  cup  of 
happiness.  Mrs.  Hartley,  who  had  never  ceded  a 
point  in  her  life,  resolutely  declined  to  communicate 
with  her  child. 

"Do  not  grieve,  Evelyn,"  dryly  remarked  Walton. 
"Your  mother  has  not  forgotten  her  own  comfort.  I 
saw  Beauford  a  moment  at  the  club  when  I  stepped 
in  to  register  my  foreign  address.  Caroline  has  taken 
Jervaux  Priory  for  a  year,  and  Wilson  told  me  your 
mother  had  telegraphed  for  your  old  tutor,  Doctor 
Stein,  at  Lausanne,  to  aid  them  as  general  adviser. 
She  has  also  written  a  lengthy  letter  to  Judge  Fox. 
I  flatter  myself  mine  will  reach  him  first.  Let  us  take 
our  vagabondage  lightly!  All  we  have  in  life  is  what 
we  gather  from  day  to  day/1 


60  THE   ANARCHIST 

"And  does  Lord  Beauford  leave  England?"  asked 
the  girl,  with  a  faint  show  of  interest. 

"Oh,  yes!  By  the  way,  we  will  meet  him  at  Rome 
or  Naples!  He  will  have  some  delay  in  arranging  the 
details  of  his  proposed  trip  to  Kashgar  and  Pamir.  The 
English  ambassador  at  Petersburg  must  obtain  some 
necessary  papers  to  allow  the  party  to  pass  through 
Russian  territory.  An  English  face  is  a  poor  passport 
in  Central  Asia  now,  if  military  purposes  are  suspected! 
Alfred  is  a  nice  fellow  and  I  think  you  will  get 
on  well  together.  The  Waltons  and  Beaufords  are  dis 
tantly  connected  by  some  old  marriage.  Is  this  man 
Stein  a  man  to  be  relied  on?  Does  your  mother  trust 
him?"  Horatio  Walton  was  skeptical  as  to  the  disin 
terestedness  of  all  distinguished  foreigners. 

"He  always  smoothed  over  the  little  ripples  in  the 
quiet  of  our  old  household,"  the  girl  remarked,  with  a 
sigh.  "Father  respected  and  trusted  him.  Stein  is  a 
demigod  in  the  eyes  of  Doctor  Rheingold.  And  you 
know  his  influence  over  my  mother!"  Evelyn  Hartley 
spoke  with  a  bitterness  which  aroused  the  admiral. 

"I  wonder  if — "  the  old  sailor  ceased  abruptly  as  a 
pair  of  dark,  earnest  eyes  quickly  flashed  an  inquiring 
glance  upon  his  face.  The  loud  cry  of  "Dover"  saved 
an  awkward  question,  and  the  travelers  were  soon  intent 
on  the  reflection  of  the  great  port  lights  of  Calais, 
gleaming  out  far  over  the  uncertain  waters  which  de 
fied  Napoleon's  futile  enmity  to  Albion. 

"This  is  a  singular  journey,  uncle,"  said  Evelyn,  as 
she  sought  a  rest  where  the  maid  and  valet  were  watch 
ing  a  pyramid  of  the  absolutely  useless  impedimenta 
of  the  British  traveler.  "We  have  no  objective  point 
yet.  Shall  I  be  a  burden  to  you?" 

Horatio  Walton  laughed  as  he  said,  "Let   us  take  a 


THE    ANARCHIST  6l 

week  in  Paris  to  consider.  It  will  serve  to  reward  you 
for  three  weeks  of  window-gazing  in  London.  I  can 
find  out  by  wire  with  regard  to  my  Italian  business. 
We  are  happy  wanderers." 

On  the  threshold  of  the  great  unknown  world,  trust 
ing  Evelyn  Hartley,  happy  hearted,  placed  her  hopes 
in  her  guardian,  to  whom  the  Continent  was  a  second 
home. 

As  Walton  paced  the  deck,  a  glow  of  satisfied  feeling 
illumined  his  world-worn  breast. 

Dead  to  all  human  passion  save  avarice  and  the 
easy  privileges  of  his  social  rank,  Horatio  Walton 
secretly  rejoiced  in  the  estrangement  between  mother 
and  daughter.  "In  the  future,  no  one  shall  reach  her 
heart  save  through  me,  if  I  can  win  her  confidence!" 

With  an  uneasy  conscience,  memories  of  days  dead 
and  gone,  of  certain  old  affiliations  with  Carbonari  and 
Red  Republicans  rose  up  before  the  man  of  romantic 
career.  Born  with  a  genius  for  intrigue,  Horatio  Wal 
ton's  early  adventures  had  carried  him  into  strange 
company. 

"Basta!"  he  cried,  as  the  lights  of  Calais  gleamed 
out  flaming  white  disks  on  the  darkened  waters.  "The 
women  are  dead  and  gone!  The  men  scattered  or 
caught  in  the  mills  of  the  gods!  I  am  safe!  The  past 
is  forever  buried." 

While  the  delighted  eyes  of  Evelyn  Hartley  rested 
for  the  first  time  on  the  varied  splendors  of  unfamiliar 
Paris  in  the  Lyons  train,  Carl  Stein  was  hastening 
to  respond  to  her  mother's  summons.  The  revolu 
tionist  had  been  chafing  daily  at  Lausanne, awaiting  the 
arrival  of  the  last  necessary  member  of  the  highest  coun 
cil  of  a  league  whose  name  (even  in  whispers)  shook  with 
terror  haughty  heads  though  crowned  and  anointed. 


62  THE   ANARCHIST 

A  high  Austrian  court  position  held  the  last  mem 
ber  tied  to  glittering  formalities,  until  he  could  join 
the  eager  circle  scattered  around  the  Lake  of  Geneva, 
and  meeting  by  stealth.  For  even  in  free  Switzerland 
imperial  gold  was  lavished  on  spies  who  watched  the 
children  of  Bakunin.  In  lonely  dells,  in  obscure  haunts, 
or  scattered  over  the  lake  in  pleasure  boats,  the  tire 
less  conspirators  poured  out  to  each  other  their  morbid 
imaginings  or  distilled  the  poison  of  their  perfected 
creeds. 

"It  must  be  a  serious  quarrel  which  has  divided  this 
family  circle,"  mused  Stein,  his  head  pillowed  on  a 
rug  as  the  train  rushed  through  the  lovely  valley  of 
the  Loire.  His  eyes  gleamed  with  a  coming  triumph. 
"I  shall  make  the  separation  permanent,"  he  slowly 
resolved.  "The  American  princess  of  Mammon  must 
be  kept  on  the  continent.  Her  nature,  emancipated 
from  the  selfish  weakling,  whom  nature's  laws  gave  her 
as  a  mother,  will  brook  no  future  control. 

"If  Rheingold  plays  his  part,  the  heiress  shall  find 
her  nearest  friend  in  me.  Mere  money,  ease,  and  the 
paltry  pleasures  of  society  will  satisfy  that  old  figure 
head  guardian.  Yes!  I  will  play  the  ambassador.  In 
siding  with  Miss  Evelyn,  I  shall  disarm  her  last  sus 
picion!  Fate,  kindly  fate,  is  bringing  her  nearer  to  me. 
And  the  glittering  prize,  the  treasure  destined  for  the 
Cause,  is  easier  to  grasp!" 

There  was  a  delicately  expressed  sympathy  in  the 
patience  with  which  Professor  Carl  Stein  listened  to 
Mrs.  Hartley's  recital  when,  the  dust  of  travel  removed, 
he  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Doctor  Rhein- 
gold's  patient. 

Firmly  declining  an  invitation  to  visit  Jeryaux,  to 
which  splendid  retreat  the  opulent  widow  was  soon  to 


THE  ANARCHIST  63 

depart,  Carl  Stein  accepted  the  task  proposed,  of 
drawing  back  the  errant  daughter  to  the  tutelage  of 
her  mother. 

"I  confide  entirely  in  you,  Professor,"  concluded  the 
unyielding  invalid.  "You  may  use  carte  blanche  as  to 
your  movements  and  expense.  Confer  with  Doctor 
Rheingold.  He  will  take  the  burden  from  me!  And 
remember  that  the  doors  of  Jervaux  Priory  will  be  open 
to  you  as  a  home!  To  your  efforts  for  me,  you  can 
add  your  own  representations  to  Judge  Fox.  This  is  a 
delicate  commission  and  Doctor  Rheingold  will  repre 
sent  me.  Your  old  friendship  will  render  your  associa 
tion  in  this  most  effective.  I  leave  all  details  to  you!" 

"My  presence  in  Switzerland  for  some  weeks  is 
imperative  but  I  will  trace  your  daughter's  movements 
and  you  will  find  me  loyal  in  your  cause,  madam," 
said  the  adviser.  "Without  intrusion  I  shall  seek  out 
Miss  Hartley  and  you  shall  be  at  once  informed  of  her 
feelings  and  surroundings." 

Two  nights  later,  Carl  Stein,  a  cipher  telegram  in 
his  pocket,  was  speeding  back  to  Lausanne.  The  con 
vocation  only  waited  for  him. 

"She  will  be  drawn  into  my  power!  I  must  now  win 
the  hidden  secrets  of  her  heart.  As  for  the  future, 
this  weakling  Rheingold  shall  unwittingly  serve  my 
purposes."  For  as  the  physician  parted  from  the 
departing  emissary,  Stein  suddenly  grasped  his  hands 
and  whispered,  "I  see  your  future  campaign  to  the 
very  end.  When  I  demand  help  from  you,  shall  I 
have  it?"  and  the  startled  body  physician  quailed 
before  Carl  Stein's  eagle  glance  as  he  murmured, 
"Yes!" 

Professor  Carl  Stein  was  in  a  particularly  good  humor 
as  his  fiacre  bore  him  through  the  Place  de  la  Concord* 


64  THE    ANARCHIST 

at  Paris  on  his  way  to  the  Lyons  station.  His 
cold  eye  rested  curiously  on  the  glittering  equipages, 
and  the  stream  of  pedestrians  moving  along  the  river 
bank.  "Just  in  time!  I  can  telegraph  for  an  answer 
at  Lyons  and  find  where  the  'Alpine  Club*  meets! 
After  the  council  I  can  follow  my  roving  commission! 
I  can  fan  the  quarrel  adroitly.  I  care  not  where  ego 
tistic  vanity  may  leave  the  empty-headed  widow! 
She  is  incapable  of  a  great  thought,  an  unselfish  action ! 
Her  life  has  been  one  act  of  fetich  worship!  But 
this  earnest-eyed  girl!  She  can  be  swept  off  her  feet 
by  a  wave  of  feeling!  Shall  it  be  love  or  a  high 
ambition!  Patience!  Time  has  been  my  best  friend!" 

He  started  as  a  woman  in  rags,  bearing  a  thin-faced 
child  in  her  arms,  avoiding  a  dashing  equipage,  was 
nearly  cut  down  by  his  modest  equipage.  In  the  splen 
did  "britska"  a  dreamy-eyed  sultana  lifted  her  painted 
brows  as  he  threw  a  few  silver  coins  to  the  frightened 
wretch. 

"So  it  is  ever !  Vice  in  gilded  chariots  rides  down 
honest  want!  Has  Time  no  remedy?"  he  snarled,  his 
brows  contracting  as  the  devil  of  revenge  awoke  in 
him.  His  cheerful  mood  vanished  as  his  eye  fell  on  the 
obelisk  cleaving  the  air  on  the  spot  where  a  Capet's 
sacred  blood  splashed  the  stones  while  the  drums  beat 
in  derision  of  the  Abbe  Edgeworth's  parting  words, 
"Son  of  Saint  Louis,  ascend  to  Heaven!" 

"Here  the  people  had  once  their  will!  They  had  the 
courage  of  despair!"  mused  the  embittered  German. 

"Will  the  day  come  again  when  numbers  will  bear 
down  their  oppressors !  Alas  ! "  he  sighed,  "there  was  only 
the  brief  struggle  of  a  few  aristocrats!  Revolution  then 
meant  an  amelioration !  When  the  great  army  of  toil 
ers  rise  against  the  invincibly  armed  hordes  of  aristoc- 


THE    ANARCHIST  65 

racy  now,  they  will  be  mowed  down  by  the  perfection 
of  murderous  machinery!  With  the  wealth,  the  war 
material  of  the  world,  the  means  of  communication  in 
the  hands  of  the  tyrants  of  the  throne  and  the  brutal 
money  kings,  there  is  but  one  agent,  the  nameless  ter 
ror  of  dynamite! 

"Bakunin  was  right !  The  ultra-nihilists  are  logical ! 
Thrones  must  be  emptied  by  assassination!  Palaces 
wrecked!  Wealth  must  shudder  in  its  bed  of  doom! 
First,  individuals,  then  the  sordid  oppressors  of  the 
poor,  last  the  whole  social  system!  Will  the  touch  of 
fire,  petroleum's  hidden  work,  Nobel's  awful  portable 
volcano,  not  sweep  the  rats  in  terror  before  the  day  of 
doom ! 

"The  Nineteenth  Century  must  have  its  climax!" 
he  groaned.  "The  days  of  'forty-eight'  were  days 
of  aspiration,  of  heroic  sacrifice !  But  it  was  too 
near  the  bloody  travail  of  ninety-three!  The  exper 
iment  of  American  liberty  has  failed !  Money 
grinds  the  defenseless  poor  under  its  heavy  wheels! 
The  tryanny  of  Europe  continues!  The  continental 
world  stands  in  arms  waiting  some  fretful  tyrant's 
nod!  England  rots  to  its  downfall!  And  the  hour  is 
ripe!  Let  this  year  of  eighteen  ninety  lead  on  to  eight 
een  ninety-three!  If  a  generation  has  to  die,  better 
die  in  a  wild  struggle,  sweeping  away  the  oppressors 
in  one  holocaust,  with  their  revolted  slaves,  than  to 
fight  each  other  at  the  beck  of  half-insane  despots!  It 
will  come!  The  twentieth  century  will  open  in  the 
crash  of  the  wildest  storm  mankind  has  ever  breasted ! 
"Yes!  Bakunin!"  cried  the  maddened  dreamer,  "your 
black  pall  of  utter  annihilation  shall  cover  the  grave 
of  modern  society!  But  two  things  remain  to  achieve," 
he  muttered,  as  he  forced  his  way  through  the  throng 


66  THE    ANARCHIST 

at  the  station,"  the  first  is  to  bring  America  into  line 
with  European  revolution.  The  brutality  of  the  Yankee 
plutocracy  will  do  its  destined  work!  The  other,  to 
baffle  and  entrap  the  wily  Roman  Church!  Through 
out  the  world  its  shaven  minions  preach  peace!  Its 
arm  is  long!  It  knows  no  time!  Its  policy  is  eternal!" 

Carl  Stein  gazed  on  Notre  Dame's  twin  towers  ris 
ing  gray  and  hoary  in  majestic  outline. 

"All  this  must  come  down!  Naught  but  Bakunin's 
prisoned  curse  of  dynamite  will  overthrow  these 
temples  of  priestly  craft!  For  fourteen  centuries  the 
paltry  fables  of  Rome  have  been  doled  out  there 
to  the  hungry  human  heart!" 

The  screaming  whistles  broke  the  spell  as  the 
anarchist  mechanically  threw  himself  into  the  first 
vacant  seat! 

"On,  onward!  Let  the  work  go  on!  Death  in  the 
struggle  of  humanity  is  the  open  gateway  of  eternal 
freedom !" 

Moody,  bitter  and  with  memories  of  the  injuries  of 
his  orphaned  youth,  Stein's  robust  nature  exulted  in 
gloating  passion,  as  he  read  the  few  lines  of  a  dis 
patch  at  Lyons. 

To-morrow  night.     Territet. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  softly  veiling  the  splen 
did  panorama  of  the  Alps  as  the  anarchist  stepped 
from  his  train  almost  under  the  shadows  of  the  Castle 
of  Chillon.  The  dreamy  lake,  from  gleaming  sap 
phire-blue  put  on  its  mighty  mantle  of  gray  fog,  when 
Carl  Stein  scaled  the  dizzy  crags  of  Territet,  on  the 
inclined  railway.  A  thousand  feet  above  the  lake,  a 
lovely  summer  resort  was  the  appointed  place  of  ren- 
degvous  of  the  Alpine  Club,  Under  the  guise  of  con- 


THE    ANARCHIST  67 

tinental  journalists,  the  assembled  conspirators  of  the 
International,  the  Latin  secret  societies,  the  Repub 
licans,  anarchists,  and  the  Slavic  assassins  of  nihilism 
could  safely  meet  in  the  unfrequented  inn. 

In  the  guise  of  tourists,  several  loiterers  eyed  the 
traveler  as  he  bent  his  steps  toward  the  broad  porti 
coes  of  the  quaint  old  chalet, plapted  on  a  beetling  crag 
overhanging  the  lake. 

Stein's  arrival  was  secretly  noted,  for  a  grave-faced 
steward  approached.  "The  reunion  will  be  one  hour 
after  the  table-d'hote.  It  will  be  held  in  the  banquet 
ing  hall  above.  The  excursion  to  the  mountains  will 
then  be  arranged." 

The  professor  bowed  in  silence.  His  quick  eye  had 
caught  the  highest  sign  of  the  Council.  The  man  who 
summoned  his  strange  confederate  on  this  calm  even 
ing  in  eighty-nine  dreamed  not  of  a  guillotine  which 
loomed  up  before  La  Roqtiette  in  days  to  come. 

Yet,  Ravachol  was  doomed  to  die  under  the  trian 
gular  knife! 

As  the  sun  sank  and  the  blackened  shadows  of  Chil- 
lon's  massive  walls  were  hidden  in  the  gloom  of  night, 
Carl  Stein's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  time-defying 
towers,  in  whose  vaults  beneath  the  lake  Bonnivard 
dragged  the  chain  of  tyranny  for  hopeless  years! 

"Eternal  spirit  of  the  chainless  mind!"  cried  the 
anarchist  in  Byron"s  impassioned  words.  "Must  the 
many  drag  forever  the  fetters  forged  by  the  flinty- 
hearted  aristocrats?  Yes!  Bakunin!  The  half  century 
of  agitation,  fifty  years  of  secret  propaganda,  the  never- 
ending  presentment  of  Misery's  cause  to  a  callous 
world,  all  are  in  vain!  It  has  been  all  fruitless!  Now 
may  the  red  levin  of  the  sudden  stroke  bring  terror 
|p  tfie  world's  drones  behind  their  guarded  lines  0f 


68  THE    ANARCHIST 

hirelings,  within  their  palaces  watched  by  pliant  lack 
eys!  The  hour  for  general  action  has  come!  Over 
the  field  of  the  future  struggle  we  must  fire  the  warn 
ing  picket  shots  of  our  battle  to  the  grim  Death!" 

Two  hours  later  the  lonely  crag  was  deserted  by  the 
chance  travelers  who  had  watched  the  sun  sweep  over 
the  chiseled  summits  of  the  Savoyard  Alps  and  glit 
ter  on  awful  Mont  Blanc,  crowned  with  its  eternal 
snows.  The  lake  lay  throbbing  below  the  exquisite 
shores  of  the  Pays  de  Vaud  in  an  unbroken  monody 
of  the  wind-waked  song  of  Freedom. 

One  by  one  the  qualified  members  of  the  "Alpine 
Club  of  Journalists"  gathered.  To  even  the  acutest 
detective  the  presence  of  the  polyglot  assembly  wculd 
have  occasioned  no  surprise. 

Switzerland's  crags  and  lakes  are  over-run  with  the 
world's  curious  idlers.  From  the  English  "Milord"  in 
state,  to  humble  "burschen,"  knapsack  on  back,  there 
is  every  note  in  humanity's  social  gamut  ever  present. 
With  no  despots  to  protect,  no  grinding  monopolies 
to  guard,  no  upstart  class  lording  it  over  the  humble 
citizen,  its  unviolated  hospitality  covers  the  world's 
wanderers. 

The  stolid  Swiss,  fearless  and  sturdy,  dread  not 
their  great  neighbors,  standing  in  embattled  ranks, 
trembling  in  mutual  fear. 

In  the  quaintly  ornamental  banqueting  room  of  the 
Inn,  two  score  of  Revolution's  trusted  leaders  gazed 
on  the  pallid  face  of  the  chairman.  The  world  could 
never  dream  of  the  haunting  horrors  of  the  prison  which, 
for  seven  long  years,  held  Prince  Davidoff  under  the 
water  level  of  the  Neva! 

To  the  old  ex-aristocrat  was  assigned  the  duty  of 
guiding  the  Children  of  Revolt  in  their  triennial  delib 
erations. 


THE    ANARCHIST  69 

Admitted  one  by  one,  they  were  scrutinized  and 
tested  by  a  committee  of  five  in  the  outer  room.  In 
little  knots,  they  communed  in  whispers,  around  the 
board,  awaiting  the  call  to  order.  Men'with  silvered 
locks,  whose  youth  was  wasted  in  Austrian  prison  cells, 
in  the  narrow  chamber  of  Adrian's  rnole,  or  in  Siberian 
huts — desperate  souls  chafing  under  the  burning  wrongs 
of  Cayenne  and  Noumea,  slaves  who  had  shuddered  in 
Poland  under  the  knout,  all  were  gazing  in  common 
enthusiasm  at  the  old  chairman,  whose  flashing  eyes 
alone  told  of  his  past  vigor. 

At  the  hour  of  nine  Davidoff  passed  the  strange 
assembly  in  review, giving  each  a  paper — to  be  read  and 
returned  in  half  an  hour.  Each  group  would  choose 
its  spokesman.  For  every  European  nation  was  repre 
sented,  and  a  dozen  were  chiefs  of  special  missions. 
In  every  variety  of  garb  and  personal  appearance,  the 
conspirators  gathered  around  long  tables,  whence  the 
clink  of  glasses  and  clouds  of  rising  smoke  gave  an 
air  of  idle  enjoyment  to  the  scene.  White  veterans 
of  the  field,  heroes  of  mad  attempts,  leaders  of  great 
outbreaks,  and  some  who  had  drawn  the  awful  "black 
lot  "  busied  themselves  with  the  papers,  but  one 
woman  was  present. 

Seated  by  the  waxen-faced  president  was  a  young 
woman  whose  resolute  face  shone  out  in  the  light  of 
the  great  pile  of  birchen  logs  blazing  in  the  huge  fire 
place. 

With  her  short  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  animated  face — 
Vera  Sassulitch  resembled  a  Bohemian  student!  Her 
sister  heroines,  Sophie  Perofska  and  Louise  Michel 
were  far  distant!  One  lying  in  the  nameless  grave 
where  the  hangman  laid  her  after  Alexander's  murderers 
died,  together,  one  defiant  band;  the  other  was  musing 


7O  THE    ANARCHIST 

on  the  shores  of  a  South  Sea  island,  dreaming  of 
Paris,  once  more  flooded  with  flaming  petroleum !  The 
womanly  hand  which  struck  down  Trepoff,  was  accent 
uating  in  gesture  her  impassioned  whispers. 

Before  the  half  hour  had  expired,  Carl  Stein  had 
fixed  in  his  memory  every  word  of  the  circular. 

At  a  signal  from  Prince  Davidoff,  each  reader  handed 
back,  in  silence,  the  secret  circular.  Slowly  approach 
ing  the  fire,  the  old  prisoner  of  state  saw  the  red 
flames  lick  up  the  last  fragment  of  the  incriminating 
papers. 

It  was  a  Congress  without  records.  The  weighty 
matters  resolved  on  were  to  be  later  disseminated, 
piecemeal,  by  the  secret  press,  and  hidden  correspond 
ence  bureau. 

"Brethren,"  said  the  Russian.  "Our  assembly  for 
to-morrow  is  at  ten.  The  session  will  be  held  at  the 
Eagle's  Nest.  Let  all  be  ready  for  that  hour.  We 
will  now  separate  for  consultation."  Before  the  huge 
wooden  clock  struck  ten,  the  room  was  deserted  by  the 
gathering.  In  their  apartments,  long  after  midnight, 
the  associated  groups  toiled  for  the  morrow's  exec 
utive  session. 

Sole  representative  of  his  special  propaganda,  Carl 
Stein  revolved  the  great  issues  before  his  awakened 
mind. 

For  the  first  time  he  had  met  the  associated  chiefs 
of  the  Impending  Revolution.  The  control  of  the 
lonely  spot  had  been  secured  to  the  Cause  by  placing 
a  trusty  agent  of  the  General  Committee  in  the  occu 
pation  of  inn-keeper.  Even  the  attendants  were  of  the 
working  orders  of  the  "Cause  without  a  name!"  and 
Eagle's  Nest,  a  grove  surmounting  a  convenient  knoll, 
was  safe  from  the  observation  of  strangers.  Its  little 


THE   ANARCHIST  71 

observation  chalet  Was  ample  for  the  temporary  accom 
modation  of  the  committee. 

"Can  these  graded  elements  of  human  dissension  be 
welded  into  a  compact  body?"  thought  Stein,  recall 
ing  the  order  of  sequence  of  the  qualified.  From  mili 
tant  labor  unions,  socialistic  clubs,  organized  com 
munists,  and  advanced  anarchists,  the  extreme  was 
reached  in  the  last  section  of  recognized  nihilists. 
Over  all  was  the  secret  executive  committee  of  the 
International.  To  this  body  alone  was  given  the  right 
of  independent  communication,  with  the  head  of  each 
of  the  other  bodies.  The  anarchist  paced  his  lonely 
room. 

Stein's  tenacious  memory  retained  the  order  of  pro 
ceedings  for  the  morrow.  They  were  "Territorial 
Reports,  Finance,  The  Situation,  Europe,  America, 
Asia,  and  Africa  as  Fields,  The  Future  Work  and  Re 
lations  with  Governments,  The  Church,  Journalism 
and  Secret  Societies." 

The  work  in  its  final  phase,  comprised,  A  Plan  of 
General  Action — The  Next  Meeting  Place  and  Trien 
nial  Passwords  and  Signals,  and  the  Assignments  to 
Duty. 

"All  this  is  a  matter  of  mere  detail  in  the  arrange 
ment  of  this  meeting.  There  is  but  one  question 
before  the  revolutionists  of  the  world  now,"  thought 
Stein,  as  he  smoked  his  last  cigar  before  closing  his 
eyes  in  dreams  of  victory.  "It  is  to  choose  between 
the  reconstruction  or  destruction  of  modern  institu 
tions.  A  fair  share  of  the  benefits  instead  of  all  the 
burden-bearing  of  society  is  denied  us  by  craft  or 
force.  The  penniless  agitator  in  a  shiny  coat  is  no 
match  for  the  bourgeois,  his  pocket  laden  with  gold, 
backed  by  army,  navy,  and  police !  The  labor  unions, 


72  THE   ANARCHIST 

workingmen's  guilds,  socialistic  clubs,  reform  societies 
and  even  the  communists  have  for  their  uttermost 
demand,  some  partial  concession  in  lighter  labor,higher 
pay,  easier  taxes,  political  voice,  or  a  small  dole  of  land 
ownership.  These  are  the  men  who  must  be  dragged 
on  to  action!  They  must  be  pushed  into  the  conflict! 
Their  attempt  is  to  ease  the  yoke  until  they  can  bear 
it — ours  is  to  cast  it  off  forever — to  move  as  freely  in 
the  light  of  liberty  as  Hapsburg,  Guelph,  or  Hohen- 
zollern !  Communism  is  the  dead-water  stage  of 
human  development!  Its  easily  reached  creature  com 
forts  blunt  the  aspirations  of  the  soul!  It  is  the  Nir 
vana  of  ignoble  mediocrity.  It  provides  the  quails  and 
manna  which  revolted  the  stagnated  Israelites!  Plato, 
Sir  Thomas  More,  Robert  Owen,  Saint  Simon,  Father 
Rapp,  Louis  Blanc,  Fourier,  Barere,and  Enfantin,  have 
failed  in  making  the  resultant  load  of  union  less  than 
the  sum  of  the  individual  burdens.  The  Utopian  folly 
of  Pantisocracy,  the  unfruitful  seclusion  of  Brook 
Farm,  prove  the  failure  of  the  philosopher  to  nourish 
Humanity  on  a  weak  gruel  of  diluted  communism.  To 
the  Shakers,  the  Oneida  Community,  to  the  robust 
Mormons,  under  the  lion-hearted  Brigham  Young, 
belong  the  only  successes  of  communism.  With  all  their 
/imitators,  these  schemers  only  open  the  door  to  a  mor 
bid  social  life,  the  acquisition  of  cheap  land  or  the  in 
dulgence  of  unrestrained  lust!  Communism,"  Stein 
sneered,  "is  the  condition  of  the  half-developed  savages 
of  the  South  Sea  Islands  !  It  is  the  division  of  primary 
animal  comforts  in  a  tropic  wilderness.  For  what  do 
we  fight?  The  devoted  sons  of  the  red  flag!"  He 
cast  his  last  glance  on  the  unanswering  stars  as  he 
threw  himself  with  wildly  beating  heart  on  his  couch. 
"For  the  world's  treasured  heritage  of  human  achieve- 


THE    ANARCHIST  73 

ment.  For  a  division  of  the  power,  place,  honors, 
wealth,  franchises,  luxuries,  and  treasure  wrung  from 
the  producer,  robbed  from  the  masses  by  conqueror, 
priest,  noble,  king,  and  money  autocrat!  And  in  sight 
of  the  battlements  of  wealth  and  power,  striding  over 
the  blood-stained  paths  of  the  past,  the  anarchist 
reaches  out  his  hand  to  destroy  the  whole  rotten  fabric 
of  to-day!  It  shall  not  be  reconstruction!  It  can  not 
be!  It  must  be  destruction!  The  twentieth  century 
shall  be  ushered  in  by  the  crash  of  falling  thrones. 
One  decade  remains!  Our  motto,  'No  Quarter,'  our 
weapon,  dynamite!  'Terror'  in  the  Old  World  is  our 
means  of  attack!  And  in  the  new!  To  grasp  at 
money,  to  control  votes,  to  ally  ourselves  with  party, 
to  get  a  hold  on  officials,  can  we  thus  prepare  for  the 
bloody  fields  of  nineteen  hundred!  For  in  the  United 
States,  neither  haughty  nobles,  a  powerful  church 
nor  a  strong  army  daunts  us!  Our  adherents  flock 
there  every  year!  Money  must  be  ours,  and  then, 
welcome  the  fight  in  the  open!" 

The  anarchist's  dreams  were  of  the  millions  gathered 
up  waiting  the  loosening  hand  of  one  untried  and 
undeveloped  woman  nature!  Evelyn  Hartley's  fortune 
haunted  the  slumbers  of  the  German  enthusiast. 

It  was  only  when  the  purpled  shadows  of  the  dying 
day  fell  to  the  east  of  Eagle's  Nest  that  the  wild-eyed 
conspirators  closed  their  dark  labors  at  the  hidden 
rendezvous.  The  party  of  moderation  vaunted  the  prog 
ress  exhibited  by  the  carefully  presented  reports, 
while  the  radicals  demanded  action.  There  were  knit 
ted  brows,  shouts  of  dissent,  and  the  tumult  of  hostile 
difference  when  the  final  consideration  of  the  plan  of 
action  was  forced  on  the  motley  assembly.  Attached 
to  no  special  group,  Carl  Stein  listened,  with  a  curling 


74  THE    ANARCHIST 

lip  to  the  fatal  differences  of  creed  between  the  chosen 
depositaries  of  the  reactionary  power  of  the  world.  The 
anarchists  and  nihilists  urged  a  series  of  personal  and 
class  attacks  upon  obnoxious  rulers,  active  enemies, 
military  and  police  headquarters,  demonstrations  in 
great  cities  and  vengeance  upon  greedy  money  lords! 
To  adjourn  in  disagreements  for  three  years  meant 
the  downfall  of  active  terrorism!  Victory  was  waver 
ing  in  the  balance,  when  a  singularly  handsome  and 
spirited  man  of  thirty  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  dark, 
impassioned  face,  his  ringing  voice,  his  reckless  elo 
quence  kindled  an  ardor  of  sudden  enthusiasm.  In 
the  undress  uniform  of  an  Austrian  officer,  he  was  the 
type  of  a  leader  fit  to  guide  a  forlorn  hope.  "Who  is 
he?"  eagerly  asked  Carl  Stein,  for  the  speaker  had 
held  haughtily  aloof  during  the  detail  work  of  the 
day.  His  voice  roused  the  German  to  a  mental  mad 
ness.  "Stanislas  Oborski,  a  Polish  count,  an  officer  of 
Honveds  and  an  aide-de-camp  of  the  Austrian  Emper 
or, "  was  the  reply  of  an  excited  French  delegate.  In 
a  wild  speech  the  extremist  swept  his  hearers  along. 
"Listen!"  he  cried,  "the  night  is  falling!  We  shall 
turn  our  feet  away  to  face  the  work  of  three  long 
years!  Shall  these  golden  months  be  wasted?  Who 
talks  of  moderation?  Let  him  join  the  dull-eyed  Chi 
nese,  the  crouching  Hindoo,  the  apathetic  Japanese  or 
the  droning  Mohammedan  chanting,  the  hymns  of  that 
arch  hypocrite,  the  camel-driver  of  Mecca — whose 
sensual  creed  has  besotted  two  hundred  millions  of  men! 
Who  talks  of  moderation?  Even  as  we  speak,  in  Rus 
sia,  Austria,  Germany,  England,  France,  and  Italy, 
twenty-three  millions  of  armed  men  (the  flower  of 
Europe  are  ranged  under  the  standards  ready  for  a  gen 
eral  war  of  nations.  One  hundred  million  of  helpless 


THE   ANARCHIST  75 

workers  will  be  exposed  to  fire  and  sword.  Ruined 
homes,  starving  women,  devastated  states  will  be  the 
result  of  the  gigantic  game  of  steel,  gold,  and  blood! 
War  is  the  sport  of  princes,  it  is  in  the  wild  carnival 
of  death  their  thrones  are  firmer  planted.  While 
these  despots,  less  than  a  score,  lift  the  finger  of  a  Nero 
the  human  brutes  struggle  in  the  arena  of  the  bat 
tlefield  for  the  approving  smile  of  a  conqueror  drunk 
with  victory.  While  the  masses  wield  the  steel  and 
from  their  drudgery,  provide  the  gold,  the  fields  of 
Europe  will  be  soaked  in  the  blood  of  the  unprotected 
masses.  To  serve  such  masters  is  human  villainy. 
Away  with  such  servile  baseness!  I  was  born  an  alien 
to  my  kindred.  I  wear  the  livery  of  one  of  the  three 
imperial  thieves  who  divided  Poland!  When  the  grasp 
ing  Prussian  and  the  flinty  Russian  were  glutted  with 
spoil,  our  patrimony  went  to  Austria.  I  only  haunt 
its  palaces  to  revenge  our  Polish  wrongs.  My  father's 
mother  died  under  the  lash  of  a  Russian  regimental 
butcher,  in  the  market  place  of  our  Palatinate!  Let 
the  men  now  herded  like  sheep  be  led  away  from  the 
shambles.  Destroy,  break  down  and  punish!  The 
gilded  flies  of  place  and  fattened  worms  of  wealth  will 
be  shriveled  up  in  the  red  fires  of  revenge?  Who  has 
paved  the  road  to  Siberia  with  skeletons!  Who  have 
thrust  natives  into  the  yawning  common  grave  lit  by 
the  torch  of  war?  For  whom  do  you  toil?  For  self- 
elected  masters!  I  say  to  the  serf,  the  peasant,  the 
wage-laborer,  the  prisoner,  the  oppressed,  strike  back, 
strike  hard!  William  the  Silent,  Henri  Quatre,  the 
great  Buckingham,  Louis  XV.,  the  American  Lincoln, 
Russia's  haughty  Alexander,  Lord  Mayo,  England's 
haughty  Indian  viceroy,  Garfield,  the  ruler  of  fifty 
millions,  Carter  Harrison,  were  struck  behind  the  lines 


76  THE   ANARCHIST 

of  your  enemies.  Welcome  the  knife,  the  bowl,  the 
torch  and  the  bomb!  There  is  not  a  potentate,  a  money 
prince,  a  palace  or  fortress  safe  from  your  attack! 
The  poor  are  your  brethren!  The  time  is  ripe!  Let 
the  plan  of  a  general  attack  on  the  hydra  be  decreed! 
Begin  the  attack  in  these  years  over  the  civilized 
world!  And  the  bells  of  the  opening  century  will  ring 
in  your  victory !"  An  awful  secret  haunted  each  breast 
as  the  conspirators  stole  away.  On  the  hill,  in  a  sud 
den  friendship,  the  Polish  renegade  smiled  grimly  as 
Stein  cried,  "I  am  with  you  to  the  end!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO   BIRDS  OF  PREY BY  THE  TIBER — LA  BELLE   AMERICA1NE 

THE  golden  sunlight  leaping  along  the  majestic  sum 
mits  of  the  Pennine  Alps  lit  up  the  sleeping  lake 
below  the  lonely  inn.  Its  glittering  lances  smote  the 
gray  canopy  of  mist  as  Carl  Stein  gazed  upon  Vevey, 
Clarens,  Montreux  and  castellated  Chillon  mirrored  in 
the  sapphire  waters  of  the  lake.  His  throbbing  tem 
ples  were  heated  with  the  mad  tide  of  his  blood, 
coursing  as  wildly  as  the  rushing  Rhone  breaking  away 
to  the  sea! 

A  sleepless  night  attested  the  fire  and  force  of  the 
words  poured  forth  by  the  handsome  Polish  renegade 
who  lingered  at  the  foot  of  a  Hapsburg's  throne! 

Gazing  with  eagle  eyes  into  the  blue  vault,  his  soul 
exalted  in  the  excitement  of  the  loosening  of  an  ava 
lanche  of  destruction,  the  lonely  German  anarchist 
felt  no  concern  for  the  future.  He  exulted  in  the  first 
trembling  movements  of  the  storm,  to  be  loosed  in  all 
its  fury,  on  the  shaken  European  autonomies  before 
the  first  day  of  the  twentieth  century! 

Little  did  he  care  that  he  stood  alone,  the  realiza 
tion  of  Emerson's  terrific  description  of  the  rejected 
human  outcast,  "a  houseless,  fatherless,  aimless  Cain, 
the  man  who  hears  only  the  sound  of  his  own  foot 
steps  in  God's  resplendent  creation!" 

A  sound  as  light-as  the  footfall  of  the  panther  fell  on 
his  ear!  He  turned  his  head  slowly. 

77 


78  THE    ANARCHIST 

Beside  him  stood  Stanislas  Oborski,  in  all  the  dark 
beauty  of  his  splendid  youth! 

"They  separate  to-day!  Only  a  lew  chiefs  of  groups 
remain.  Whither  go  you?  Come  with  me  to  Vienna! 
I  would  see  more  of  you!"  The  desperate  noble  had 
recognized  a  soul  as  daring  as  his  own. 

"Brother!"  said  Stein,  "I  am  to  have  a  private  con 
ference  with  the  chief  before  noon.  Wait  till  then! 
If  I  can  not  go  on  your  way,  I  will  meet  you  soon  on 
my  return  from  Italy!"  The  two  Birds  of  Prey  knew 
each  other  by  instinct. 

They  wandered  in  converse  till  the  avocations  of 
the  day  called  the  sleepers  on  the  lake  shore  to  life! 

On  the  terrace,  trifling  with  a  Galignani  over  his  coffee 
and  cigar,  Carl  Stein  uttered  a  joyful  exclamation. 
For  at  Rome,  the  list  of  the  "Hotel  de  Russie"  bore  the 
names  Admiral  Horatio  Walton,  Chevalier,  etc.,  and 
Miss  Evelyn  Hartley.  In  grave  contemplation  he  re 
volved  his  plan  of  action  slowly.  "I  might  go  to 
Constance,  to  Bregenz,  with  him,  and  then  over  the 
Brenner  and  meet  Miss  Evelyn — 

A  sudden  inspiration  smote  him!  "The  very  nian!" 
he  cried,  starting  from  his  chair,  as  the  superb  figure 
of  the  Austrian  officer  met  his  eyes.  Oborski  was  grace 
fully  saluting  Prince  Davidofl  whose  distinguished  air 
marked  him  as  a  "personage.  " 

"Could  I  trust  him?  Whom  can  I  trust?"  he  cynic 
ally  mused,  forgetting  that  he  had  forfeited  the  trust 
and  esteem  of  the  sons  of  men  himself!  "Let  me  think! 
It  would  add  one  great  general  to  marshal  our  flag 
ging  cohorts!  This  man  is  a  born  leader!" 

The    remaining  members    of  the  Alpine    Club  were 
scattered  in  knots  of    allied    comra'des    over  the  hills, 
i  and  Stein  watched  the  pseucjo-joujnajists, 


THE    ANARCHIST  79 

disappear,  hour  by  hour,  to  meet  the  waiting  trains 
and  boats!  Their  diverging  paths  led  the  disciples 
of  distinction  far  away  to  distant  haunts  of  murder 
hatching.  A  numb  feeling  chilled  all  hearts  for  the 
tidings  they  bore  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  future 
field  were  the  stern  orders  for  a  series  of  violent 
demonstrations,  individual  reprisals,  and  terrifying 
attacks, taking  advantage  of  all  local  causes  of  quarrel! 

The  great  simultaneous  opening  of  a  bloody  destruct 
ive  warfare  was  to  wait  the  signal  of  the  secret  Great 
Council  through  the  veteran  Davidoff. 

Each  departing  group  had  its  special  orders,  its  ral 
lying  point  and  code  of  signals! 

To  detached  agents  of  the  highest  rank,  men  like 
Count  Oborski,  fearless  souls  of  the  mould  of  Stein, 
was  given  the  dangerous  work  of  exciting  and  bringing 
on  collision  when  the  -times  were  ripe  for  dynamite's 
horrid  work. 

"My  son!"  solemnly  closed  Davidoff' s  secret  orders 
to  Stein,  "seek  not  in  the  United  States  to  ally  your 
self  unto  parties!  No  people,  given  a  ballot,  dare 
own  the  ultimate  purposes  of  our  creed!  Secret  socie 
ties,  reckless  politicians,  the  disappointed  and  unsuc 
cessful,  are  your  aim!  Watch  all  strikes,  incipient 
riots,  exciting  political  junctures  and  times  of  dis 
tress!  A  noted  man  struck  down,  a  millionaire's  pri 
vate  car  blown  to  pieces,  a  monopolists' pleasure  yacht 
burned,  a  police  scare,  a  conflict  with  the  militia,  all 
these  are  incidents  of  our  propaganda!  In  times  of 
stress,  a  few  intelligent  and  desperate  men  can  em 
broil  the  two  great  classes,  the  rich  and  the  poor! 

"Seek  to  break  the  integrity  of  the  centralized 
union  of  States!  The  American  ballot  is  useless  to  us, 
unless  you  can  control  the  election  of  one 


80  THE    ANARCHIST 

governor  by  massing  the  whole  Socialistic  vote! 
Then,  act  boldly.  If  a  member  of  our  order  he  will 
find  a  way  to  protect,  to  pardon,  perhaps  to  throw  the 
arsenals  and  munitions  of  a  state  at  our  disposal  in 
Nineteen  Hundred.  Example  is  contagious!  Opposi 
tion  breeds  contention!  That  will  bring  about  repres 
sion  !  We  will  answer  with  aggression,  with  startling 
secret  vengeance,  or  open  terrorism !  The  resulting 
tumult  will  lead  to  destruction,  the  ultimate  logical 
result! 

"Stein,  we  must  destroy  the  State,  to  make  the 
future  freeman!  Read  and  study  Bakunin's  Geneva 
speech  of  '68 — 'The  first  lie  is  God — the  second  is 
Right.' 

"Once  penetrated  with  a  clear  conviction  of  your 
own  'Might,'  you  will  be  able  to  destroy  this  mere 
notion  of  'Rights 

"Waste  no  time,  Stein,  when  you  have  challenged 
your  American  wage-workers,  to  tell  you  why  two 
hundred  arch-millionaires  hold  sixty  millions  of  Amer 
ican  citizens,  in  a  lower  slavery  than  the  Czar  does 
his  timorous,  ignorant  subjects! 

"You  Americans  have  not  the  excuse  of  ignorance, 
or  the  shield  of  cowardice!  They  are  a  restless  sea, 
pent-up  now ! 

"Teach  them  to  move!  One  effort  and  the  resist 
less  masses  will  spurn  the  scum  of  their  enslavers  and 
retake  the  priceless  millions  on  millions  stolen  from 
them  in  bonds,  lands,  franchises  and  capital's  un 
earned  exactions! 

"Your  course  is  forcible  possession  first,  then  divi 
sion!  Who  owns  your  railroads?  Not  the  sweating 
fools  who  built  them  and  gave  away  lands,  franchises 
and  monopoly's  exactions  to  the  thieves  in  power! 


THE   ANARCHIST  8l 

Whose  are  the  broad  lands  your  citizens  en  mass 
acquired  as  a  national  property?  They  are  held  by  the 
"Barons  of  Boodle!' 

"Go!  America's  great  battle  is  to  be  the  Water 
loo  of  the  tyrant  Capital.  Be  it  yours  to  open  the 
fight!  If  you  should  fall,  you  will  be  the  Arnold 
Winkelried  of  the  modern  human  race!  Die  in  harness 
— not  in  the  trappings  of  a  slave!  Let  your  masters 
die  with  you  and  precede  you  to  the  gloomy  Styx!" 

The  pallid  old  prisoner  of  state  was  Hell's  high- 
priest  as  he  delivered  this  invocation  to  the  Furies! 

With  the  intent  to  visit  his  proposed  victim,  to 
establish  an  active  secret  correspondence  with  the 
most  deadly  of  American  "destructionists"  and  to  draw 
Oborski  to  his  heart  in  closest  ties,  Carl  Stein  went 
forth  to  Constance,  with  the  splendid  noble,  weaving 
webs,  dreaming  dreams  he  dared  not  make  known  to 
mortal ! 

Carl  Stein's  simple  preparations  for  his  Roman  pil 
grimage  needed  but  one  day  at  Lausanne.  White  he 
secured  his  papers  and  prepared  for  a  leisurely  visit 
to  the  Italian  capital  and  Vienna,  he  keenly  studied 
the  dashing  nobleman  to  whom  he  was  strangely 
drawn.  "Let  the  brethren  separate,"  gayly  cried 
Oborski,  "while  I  pay  my  homage  to  the  shade  of  the 
mighty  Gibbon.  For  twenty  years  he  studied  the  tort 
uous  path  of  unceasing  revolution  which  led  to  the 
Decline  of  the  Roman  Empire,  that  great  community 
where  patrician  vice  and  the  luxury  of  wealth  rotted 
away  the  antique  man!  The  same  poison  affects  now 
the  over-pampered  nations  of  modern  Europe!  Thought, 
principle,  leading  to  bold  and  aggressive  action,  is 
needed  to  overturn  the  modern  system  of  the  world. 
Even  as  Luther,  Zwingli  and  Calvin  threw  down  the 


82  THE    ANARCHIST 

tottering  walls  of  spiritual  Rome! — Mazzini,  Marx, 
and  Bakunin  are  their  modern  prototypes  in  this  civic 
warfare!  They  prove  how  the  final  conflict  to  the 
death  is  forced  on  us  by  repression  and  coercion! 
Mazzini  cherished  the  idea  of  general  amelioration 
and  improvement,  retaining  the  fable  of  God!  His 
dreamy  mind  shunned  the  logical  results  of  self-defense! 
He  feared  to  meet  armed  brutality  with  an  anonymous 
assassination!  He  could  not  see  that  our  tyrants  are 
self-sentenced  and  any  suffering  man  is  a  natural  exe 
cutioner!  .  .  .  Marx  aimed  to  redistribute  and  equalize 
the  burden  of  modern  society,  yet  finding  compromise 
futile,  saw  the  liberty  of  man  in  the  red  flames  of  the 
commune!  Negation  of  religion,  a  denial  of  the  rights 
of  aristocracy  and  capital  must  lead  on  to  the  struggle 
to  break  our  chains  forever.  Philosophy,  thought,,  and 
action  lead  up  to  the 'fierce  divine  light  of  Freedom, 
shining  on  the  altar  whereat  Bakunin  alone  remains 
the  High-Priest  of  vindicated  Nature! 

"It  is  to  men  like  you  and  I  the  leadership  is  given' 
of  the  hosts,  who,  breaking  their   chains,  will  destroy 
our  foes! 

"The  road  is  clear!  we  must  storm  the  heights!" 

As  the  train  dashed  through  the  beautiful  vistas  of 
the  Canton  of  Vaud,  Carl  Stein  marveled  at  the  fasci- 
cinations  of  the  versatile  Polish  Palatine.  Arts,  ro 
mance,  languages,  literature,  poesy  and  the  graceful 
enthusiasm  of  his  rich  youth  and  ardent  nature  made 
Stanislas  Oborski  a  star  of  fascination.  Traveled  and 
cultured,  with  the  graceful  elegance  of  Viennas'  exclu 
sive  salons  lending  its  charm,  he  was  an  arch-jesuit 
lurking  in  the  anterooms  of  the  most  ceremonial  court 
of  Europe. 

"Come  to  me  at  Vienna,  my  brother,  after  your  Ital 


THE    ANARCHIST  83 

ian  pilgrimage  is  done!  You  can,  in  a  few  days 
journey,  see  the  effects  of  the  artful  divisions  of  the 
Slavs  by  the  Teutonic  modern  policy.  Ah!  Our  Slavs 
are  ripe  for  anarchy,  for  nihilism,  but  the  adroit 
division  of  Poland  between  Prussia,  Russia  and  Austria, 
prevents  our  Czechs  being  cemented  to  the  reactionary 
party  of  Russia.  Old  Pogodin  was  right!  The  great 
Slav  convention  of  Moscow  in  1867  was  a  failure. 
Panslavism  died  under  the  repression  of  the  iron 
Russian  Czar,  and  the  adroitness  of  the  Austrian  Em 
peror.  While  Germany  beats  our  Polish  brethren  into 
its  ranks,  and  Russia  enslaves  them,  Austria  flatters 
us  with  place  and  power!  Austria  aims  to  seduce  each 
warm-hearted  Polish  leader.  I  am  tied  to  the  frivol 
ities  of  a  court!  Revolution,  to  be  successful,  must  be 
bloody  and  general!  The  world  must  be  wrapped  in 
flame!  The  line  of  our  enemies  will  break  in  some 
weak  spot!  Russian  nihilists  are  selfish  in  their  local 
efforts!  The  Jews  are  the  dead  weight  of  the  world, 
bearing  no  generous  burdens  of  the  great  social  move 
ment  !  The  Germans  aim  to  break  down  mere,  mili 
tarism,  the  French  are  erratic,  the  Italians  and  Span 
ish  not  to  be  trusted,  and  revolution  in  Great  Britain 
is  an  impossibility.  A  few  less  hours,  a  little  morel 
wage,  and  the  stolid  British  toiler  grunts  in  comfort 
at  his  trough ! 

"It  is  in  America  that  the  bold,  bright,  fearless 
masses  whose  fathers  died  by  thousands  for  the  abstract 
principle  of  black  emancipation  must  break  their  own 
chains  by  an  onslaught  in  the  name  of  Humanity!  I 
could  welcome  a  death  in  that  great  struggle,  with 
men  like  you  at  my  side!  And  yet,  you  will  smile 
when  you  meet  me  in  Vienna,  and  see  me,  an  Oborski, 
a  lackey  like  the  rest,  with  only  a  bit  more  gold  lace 


84  THE    ANARCftlST 

than    the   palace    menials    and    a    few    more     medals 
on  my  breast." 

In  sunlight  and  shade,  while  threading  the  mountain 
chains,  and  sweeping  over  the  matchless  blue  waters 
of  Constance,  Carl  Stein  was  swept  along  by  the  swift 
tide  of  the  handsome  noble's  enthusiasm! 

"Who  could  resist  such  a  man?"  thought  Stein,  as 
he  plunged  into  the  shaded  canons  of  the  Tyrol  where 
Andreas  Hofer  died  for  liberty!  The  scheming  anar 
chist  was  on  his  way  to  plot  for  the  empire  of  a  human 
heart!  To  gain  the  confidence  of  "the  beautiful  Miss 
Hartley,"  the  fame  of  whose  millions  was  augmented 
by  the  queenly  beauty  of  the  young  daughter  of  the 
West! 

"I  must  not  tarry!  Such  a  glittering  prize  will  be 
fought  for  by  the  nobles  of  continental  Europe.  Amer 
ican  gold  regilds  to-day  the  faded  scutcheon  of  even 
the  haughtiest  of  the  nobles." 

Resolute  and  clear-sighted,  just,  even  to  his  foes  in 
his  intellectual  judgments,  Carl  Stein  felt  that  his 
middle  age,  his  severe  intellect,  his  lack  of  the  smaller 
agrements  of  fashionable  life,  as  well  as  his  past  rela 
tion,  barred  him  forever  from  aspiring  to  be  a  suitor! 

As  he  swept  down  the  slopes  of  fertile  Lombardy, 
and  his  delighted  eyes  gazed  upon  the  richness  of 
Upper  Italy,  he  knew  that  the  romance  of  the  land 
would  appeal  to  the  unawakened  heart  of  the  heiress. 

"If  I  had  Oborski's  years,  his  graces,  his  personal 
fascination,  I  might  enter  the  lists" — and  the  idea  of 
another  possessing  Evelyn  Hartley  seemed  to  the  man, 
who  had  watched  her  splendid  nature  round  into  classic 
lines,  to  be  the  desecration  of  a  shrine! 

For,  in  her  young  spring-time  of  beauty,  the  fair 
American  was  an  exquisitely  lovely  Psyche,  whom  all 
worshiped  but  as  yet  none  had  dared  to  love  I 


THE  ANARCHIST  85 

To  her,  Eros  was  as  yet  the  dainty  spirit  hovering 
in  her  dreams! 

"If  she  drifts  out  on  a  sea  of  pleasure,  she  is  lost 
to  the  higher  life,  lost  to  the  great  Cause,  and  the 
silken  curtains  of  Love's  rosy  bowers  will  shut  out 
the  cries  of  the  toilers  who  drudge  in  her  far  away 
industrial  army." 

Carl  Stein  was  conscious  of  the  deference  paid  to  a 
prosperous  exterior.  As  he  descended  from  his  car 
riage,  in  the  courtyard  of  the  "Hotel  de  Russie,"  his 
entree  in  Rome  was  that  of  a  visitor  of  distinction. 
Thanks  to  David  Hartley's  legacy,  his  state  of  gen 
tleman  was  no  burden  to  him.  Under  the  lights  of  the 
court,  where  the  ilex  trees  shaded  his  table,  he  list 
ened  to  the  plash  of  the  fountains  and  the  echoing 
songs  of  light-hearted  students,  wandering  in  the 
moonlight  on  the  heights  of  the  Pincian  far  above. 

In  a  reverie  of  delight,  for  the  spell  of  classic  Rome 
was  upon  him,  he  was  awakened  by  the  clash  of  a 
stately  carriage  in  the  court.  He  was  revolving  his 
social  debut  in  the  city  by  the  Tiber,  for  he  knew  that 
the  admiral  and  his  lovely  ward  were  still  at  the 
hotel.  In  arriving  late  he  had  only  learned  that  the 
visitors  he  sought  were  by  right  of  Admiral  Walton's 
rank  and  cosmopolitan  social  position,  guests  at  a 
Quirinal  dinner. 

Gazing  idly  at  the  carriage,  he  noted  a  tall,  distin 
guished  Briton,  with  the  patrician  seal  of  England's 
best  blood  stamped  on  his  handsome  features,  busied 
in  handing  out  a  lady  whose  rich  attire  and  distinc 
tion  invoked  the  frank  admiration  of  the  graceful  Ital 
ian  jeunesse  doree  who  saluted,  hat  in  hand.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  clean-cut  features  of  Admiral 
Walton,  resplendent  in  his  uniform  and  flushed  with 
the  evening's  pleasures. 


86  THE   ANARCHIST 

"It  is  the  beautiful  American,  Alphonse!1'  said  a 
young  attache  near  him,  dropping  his  eyeglass,  as 
the  vision  of  loveliness  vanished  up  the  marble  stair, 
"and  the  Lord  Beauford,  her  English  admirer!  Her 
fortune  is  immense.  Alas!  The  Lord  Beauford  is 
the  'ami  intime. '  They  ride  in  the  Borghese  Garden 
daily!" 

"I  must  be  about  my  work,"  muttered  Stein,  as  he 
sought  his  apartments.  ''Love  may  lock  the  gateway 
before  me!  This  may  need  the  noble  Count  Palatine 
Oborski's  help!  I  shall  watch  the  Englishman!" 

There  was  a  frank  pleasure  in  Evelyn  Hartley's 
glance  of  welcome  as  Doctor  Carl  Stein,  with  punc 
tilious  ceremony  approached  the  beautiful  neophyte 
in  the  beau  monde,  under  the  marble  arcade  where 
she  sat  at  dejeuner  with  the  admiral  on  the  morrow 

"I  greet  you  by  the  Tiber,  where  we  have  so  often 
wandered  in  thought!"  said  Evelyn,  a  bright  smile 
lighting  up  her  face. 

Lord  Alfred  Beauford  acknowledged  with  reserve 
the  presentation  of  Doctor  Carl  Stein  of  Heidelberg^. 

"Deuce  take  the  fellow!  I  hope  he  will  not  cut  in 
on  our  ride,"  muttered  Beauford  as  he  tugged  at  his 
tawny  mustache.  "Some  one  of  these  German  dream 
ers,  eloquent  over  an  upturned  arch  or  the  foot  of  a 
broken  statue!" 

"Do  you  make  a  stay  in  Rome,  Doctor,"  cheerily 
queried  the  Admiral.  He  was  glad  of  the  new  arrival 
to  share  his  duties  as  cicerone.  The  glow  of  youthful 
romance  had  long  since  faded  from  Horatio  Walton's 
mind!  A  perfectly  well-ordered  life  was  his. — He 
enjoyed  the  freedom  from  daily  avocation,  and  a  little 
dabbling  in  intrigue,  watching  the  schemes  of  epicurean 


THE   ANARCHIST  87 

diplomats,  crested  with  star  and  order — the  sly  plots  of 
Cardinal  and  Monseigneur,and  the  dangerous  skirmishes 
veiled  by  soft  Italian  eyes. 

"I  have  some  researches  at  the  Vatican  library  to 
make,  Admiral,"  guardedly  remarked  Stein,  "I  am 
relaxing  a  little.  I  have  been  in  England  also!"  He 
glanced  meaningly  at  his  pupil, 

"Then  you  can  tell  me  all  the  news  after  dinner/' 
said  Evelyn  brightly,  as  she  rose.  "Will  you  dine 
with  us  this  evening?" 

The  doctor  bowed  in  acceptance  as  Lord  Beauford 
hurriedly  said,  "Pray,  Miss  Evelyn,  allow  me  to 
remind  you  of  our  ride  at  three!  I  fear  it  will  be  our 
last  for  some  weeks!"  The  nobleman  spoke  deject 
edly.  Under  Stein's  bushy  brows  his  eyes  eagerly 
watched  the  heiress. 

"Do  you  leave  us  then,  so  soon,  Lord  Beauford,  for 
the  Asian  ride?"  She  spoke  with  regret  and  concern, 
but  no  sentiment. 

"Thank  heavens!  she  is  free  as  yet!"  thought  Stein. 
"She  is  waking  to  the  social  world,  its  varied  panorama, 
not  as  yet  to  the  master  passion!" 

"I  have  to  run  over  to  Venice  to  see  my  chosen  com 
rade  for  the  Khivan  trip!  He  has  a  bit  of  a  fever! 
By  the  way,  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow.  An  American, 
too,  — 'Phil  Maitland."1 

Evelyn  started  in  glad  surprise.  "Of  Harvard?" 
she  asked  anxiously. 

"Certainly!"  said  Beauford,  "and  from  your  region 
— Cleveland,  is  it?  Here's  his  picture!  Do  you  hap 
pen  to  know  him?" 

The  beauty  laughed  as  she  returned  the  photograph. 

"He  was  my  father's  ward  and  the  Prince  Charming 
of  my  days  in  short  frocks!  I  thought  he  was  in  China. 
I  am  sure  he  has  not  heard  of  our  loss!" 


88  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Very  possibly,"  said  Beauford,  with  interest.  "Phil 
has  been  in  the  South  Seas  and  Borneo  and  came 
home  via  Brindisi  to  go  with  me!  We  are  'old 
"shikarees"!*  We  met  first  in  India,  tiger  shooting!" 

"I  wonder  if  he  would  know  me  now!"  mused  Eve 
lyn.  "If  he  has  ever  seen  your  face,  he  could  hardly 
forget  it,"  neatly  answered  Beauford,  with  a  bit  of  a 
blush,  as  he  caught  Stein's  eye.  "I  must  nurse  him 
up.  I  am  afraid  his  sickness  may  delay  us  too  late 
for  this  season,  and  I've  some  awkward  letters  from 
my  solicitors  about  some  law  business.  If  he  does 
not  mend,  I  shall  take  him  over  to  Adolf  Schwartzen- 
burg's  castle  in  Hungary.  I  am  going  there  hunting." 

"Do  you  then  think  your  trip  will  be  given  up?"  The 
American  heiress*  cheeks  Dore  a  deeper  tint  of  rose 
as  she  met  Beauford's  eye. 

"It  depends  on  the  lawyers,  Miss  Evelyn.  If  we 
delay  a  year,  I  shall  pass  the  winter  in  Vienna.  It  is 
very  gay  there!  Admiral,  you  have  friends  "here! 
Why  do  you  not  think  of  it?" 

"Decidedly  I  will!  Alfred,"  said  the  sailor.  He  was 
easily  led  in  the  golden  path  of  ease  and  luxury  sur 
rounding  his  charming  ward. 

Cunning  Carl  Stein  held  his  breath.  "All  things 
come  round,"  he  muttered.  "Do  you  happen  to  know 
a  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  in  Vienna,  my  lord?"  he 
casually  asked. 

"A  splendid  soldier,  and  the  handsomest  and  noblest 
exemplar  of  the  old  Polish  families.  His  high 
rank  in  the  Austrian  service  was  given  him  because 
his  fine  old  place  at  Jordanow,  closes  the  only  pass  in 
the  Carpathians  where  the  Russians  could  break  in! 
He  is  an  old  friend  and  a  daring  rider.  Have  you 
met  him,  Doctor?"  Lord  Beauford  was  interested  in 
the  reserved  German. 


THE    ANARCHIST  89 

"We  are  intimate  !  We  have  traveled  together  in 
Switzerland!"  said  the  anarchist.  "He  has  asked  me 
to  visit  his  home  on  the  Arva. " 

"By  all  means  go!  It's  a  royal  old  domain!"  said 
Beauford.  As  he  saluted  the  fair  American,  wandering 
down  the  Corso  with  the  Englishman,  Stein  satisfied 
himself  of  the  extent  of  the  growing  intimacy. 

"She  is  safe  yet!  It  looks  well!  As  yet  only  a 
congenial  companionship.  He  evidently  admires  her. 
The  electric  spark  is  hidden  in  the  clouds  as  yet. 
Cold  and  phlegmatic  English  nature!  He  is  a  formal 
'proper'  man  of  rank!  Love  has  never  smote  his  harp 
of  Life!  The  sounding  strings  are  silent!  And  Eve 
lyn,  grand,  noble,  her  eyes  opening  to  the  glories  of 
the  new  existence  of  'high  life',  her  womanly  heart 
is  yet  untroubled!"  He  was  free  to  soliloquize  in 
safety. 

"Certainly,  Beauford' s  polished  aplomb  and  social 
qualities  will  draw  them  much  together,  and  he  owns 
the  fine  old  seat  of  Jervaux  Priory  where  Rheingold 
is  now  languishing  over  the  silly-minded  widow!  But 
yet — "  thought  Stein. 

"Beauford  is  not  the  man  to  sound  her  nature!" 
decided  Stein  as  he  bent  his  steps  toward  St.  Peters. 
"Mightier  far  than  strength  of  nerve,  or  sinew,  or  the 
sway  of  magic  potent  over  sun  and  star,  is  Love ! 
When  her  royal  soul  is  awakened  from  its  original 
slumber  it  will  be  to  the  glowing  noon  of  a  matchless 
womanhood,  or  to  the  wild  rush  of  a  passion  not  to  be 
bounded  by  conventionality.  Sympathy  and  high  pur 
pose  might  effect  the  one,  the  fascinations  of  a  roman 
tic  lover,  the  other!  I  can  soon  tell  if  Oborski  is  pit 
ted  against  this  Beauford! 

"But  here  I  am  at    Peter's    fane!     I    must    have  an 


go  THE    ANARCHIST 

excuse  for  lingering  near  them.  If  they  go  to  Vienna, 
with  the  Englishman  chafing  to  be  off  to  the  lonely 
trip  over  'the  Roof  of  the  World,'  Oborski  may, 
in  the  splendors  of  a  stately  court,  arouse  that  dor 
mant  love  of  factitious  social  precedence  and  patri- 
cianism  which  enslaves  the  younger  American  women! 
I  must  see  Cardinal  Rampolla  and  get  my  entree  to 
the  Library  and  archives  of  the  Vatican. " 

In  a  half  hour  of  conference,  Doctor  Carl  Stein's 
superb  credentials  and  letters  from  the  Palatine  Obor 
ski,  as  well  as  the  flavor  of  his  literary  name,  placed 
him  on  the  road  to  the  favors  of  the  Prince  of  the 
Church. 

"You  are  Catholic,  my  son?"  remarked  the  suave 
magnifico. 

"Your  Eminence,"  artfully  replied  Stein,  "my  life 
has  alternated  between  the  occupations  of  student 
and  master.  As  yet  my  belief  is  as  vague  as  the 
clouds,  as  broad  as  the  sea!" 

"Doctor  Stein,  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  as  a  scholar, 
— sad  to  know  your  probable  adherence  to  the  later 
traditions  of  grand  old  Heidelberg.  First,  Catholicism, 
then  Calvinism,  now  Materialism  ;  finally — what  will 
be  your  religious  teachings  there?  You — pantheist, 
atheist,  materialist,  come  to  the  treasure-house  of 
Mother  Church  for  the  garnered  knowledge  of  nineteen 
hundred  years!  What  have  your  ecstatic  national 
philosophers  accomplished?  Philosophy,once  the  hand 
maid  of  Religion,  is  now  its  deadliest  enemy!  You 
spurn  the  God-inspired  truth  of  the  Church  to  lean 
on  Plato  and  Aristotle.  You  have  nothing  tangible, 
modern,  but  the  methods  of  Bacon  and  Descartes  and 
Comte"  with  their  imitators!  Mere  methods !  Do  you 
know  where  Spinoza,  Hobbs,  and  Locke,  lead  to?  Pure 


THE    ANARCHIST  Ql 

atheism!  And  whither  does  the  Idealism  of  Kant, 
Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel  tend?  Toward  the 
anarchy  toward  which  the  civilized  world  is  being 
drawn  by  this  materialistic  current  in  the  face  of  your 
boasted  intellectual  freedom!" 

"I  am  a  student,  not  a  political  economist,  your 
Eminence!"  replied  Stein  gravely. 

"Be  it  as  you  will,  my  son!"  rejoined  the  Cardinal, 
toying  with  the  tassel  of  his  red  beretta.  "Scholar 
ship  in  Germany  gave  us  Hegel  and  his  mad  devotee, 
Bakunin,  and  his  disciples  will  achieve  the  ruin  of 
the  modern  world,  unless  men  like  yourself  come  to 
us  and  drink  here  of  Catholic  conservatism!  Look  at 
the  evolution  of  victory  in  the  Catholic  policy  in 
Germany !  Even  the  man  of  Blood  and  Iron  was 
baffled  by  the  unshaken  faith  and  waiting  power  of 
the  church!  Turn  your  eyes  on  modern  Italy— a  politi 
cal  wreck — a  financial  ruin!  The  only  really  reigning 
sovereign  to-day  is  Leo  XIII.  for  the  wisdom  of  this 
august  Vicar  of  Christ  >  alone  prevents  a  general  Eu 
ropean  war! 

"Your  German  materialism  has  drifted  into  anarchy 
and  fathers  the  world's  ulcer  of  nihilism!  There  are 
but  two  active  powers  to  save  modern  civiilzation 
from  the  Red  Terror!  The  one  is  our  broad  Catholic 
conservatism,  the  balance-wheel  of  the  whole  worjd, 
aided  by  the  strange  reinforcement  of  Russian  military 
energy.  Stamping  out  nihilism  in  the  blood  of  its 
adherents — not  of  their  victims! 

"Even  now,"  continued  the  cardinal,  "the  Greek 
Church  secretly  yearns  to  come  back  to  us — its  ortho 
dox  heart  beats  warmly  toward  reunion! 

"In  that  blessed  hour, "  said  the  enthusiastic  church 
man,  "the  benign  force  of  God's  anointed  would  shine 


Q2  THE   ANARCHIST 

in  peace  on  a  world,  disarmed!  A  world  wherein  no 
sword  would  break  the  strained  peace  of  armed  Europe ! 
"Germany  is  wearing  itself  out  in  militarism  !  Its 
citizens  fly  to  America!  Under  stern  repression,  the 
anarchists  of  the  world  flock  into  the  open  doors  of  the 
United  States!  Unless  the  evil  is  counteracted,  by  the 
united  powers  of  Russian  repression  and  Catholic  wis 
dom,  when  the  torch  of  anarchy  is  lit  it  will  wrap 
the  world  in  flames  " 

"Do  you  think  the  time  of  an  active  attack  on  the 
order  of  existing  things  has  been  reached,  Your  Emi 
nence?"  queried  the  crafty  anarchist. 

"It  is  near!"  the  cardinal  sadly  replied.  "Men  of 
rank,  bitter  malcontents,  unbridled  natures,  enthu 
siasts  of  the  higher  classes  are  scattered  over  the  whole 
world!  The  secret  reports  of  the  church  enable  us  to 
feel  the  pulse  of  the  world  monthly.  There  is  noth 
ing  to  shake  or  break,  in  the  slavish  calm  of  the  East, 
or  in  the  darkness  of  Africa,  or  the  barbarity  of  the 
South  Sea  Islands.  Practical  military  anarchy  has 
been  the  rule  in  the  Latin-American  republics  since 
1820,  when  they  deafened  their  ears  to  the  warning  voice 
of  Mother  Church !  It  is  in  heaving,  convulsive 
Europe,  and  fevered  America,  the  chosen  home  of  Free 
dom,  that  the  desperate  attack  of  the  anarchist  on 
property,  society,  the  home,  the  family  government, 
yea,  even  God,  will  soon  drench  a  world  in  blood! 

"I  do  not  gainsay  the  mechanical  and  material  tri 
umphs  of  the  nineteenth  century!  I  do  maintain  that 
the  collective  morality  of  the  age  is  wrecked!" 

"And  will  the  church  take  part  in  the  struggle  you 
fear?"  Stein  gravely  questioned 

"The  Cossack  will  guard  his  mighty  sweep  of 
Empire  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Pacific,  from  the  White 


THE    ANARCHIST  93 

Sea  to  the  Dardanelles!  The  Holy  Church,  recogniz 
ing  the  necessary  interdependence  of  capital  and  labor, 
insisting  on  peace,  will  rally  to  the  defense  of  an 
imperilled  social  system,  every  loyal  child  of  its  com 
munion  !  You  know  our  attitude  toward  secret  socie 
ties!  Their  amazing  development  in  the  United  States 
baffles  the  police,  as  well  as  the  thinker  and  law  giver! 

"To  the  Catholic  Church  is  given  the  police  of  the 
human  mind  in  the  twentieth  century,  and  even  if  the 
shock  of  battle  be  terrible  (as  the  warfare  will  be 
cruel,  unusual  and  bloody),  from  the  sea  of  human 
woe,  the  grand  old  Rock  of  Peter  will  rise,  at  once  a 
monument,  a  fortress,  and  a  refuge! 

"Doctor  Stein,"  said  the  cardinal  rising.  "In  the 
Dark  Ages — Holy  Church  preserved  the  heritage  of 
human  knowledge,  of  classic  love,  and  fostered  the 
arts!  In  the  Red  Revolution  of  the  Twentieth  Cent 
ury,  it  will  preserve  by  its  unflinching  adherence 
to  the  Right,  the  worthy  social  institutions  found 
necessary  for  man  and  man!  We  are  ready  to  meet 
it!  The  proud  men  who,  drunk  with  Bakunin's  fantas 
tic  expansion  of  Hegelism,  are  to  themselves  a  Jaw, 
a  rule,  a  God; — who  are  mob,  judges,  juries  and 
executioners  at  once — who  are  the  fallen  angels  of 
this  cycle,  will  yield  yet  to  us!  The  darkness  of 
anonymous  and  cowardly  anarchistic  fury  must 
yield  to  the  Light  which  shines  from  Calvary!  You 
are  a  generation  younger  than  I!  You  may  live  to 
see  the  horrid  scenes  of  the  great  anarchistic  general 
revolution.  I  will  not  see  the  final  victory  of  the 
Right,  but  the  propaganda  of  Hell  will  fail.  The 
Hosts  of  Heaven  will  fight  for  us!  No  one  ever  threw 
himself  yet  against  the  Rock  of  Peter  without  God's 
vengeance!  Where  is  mighty  Napoleon's  empire?  A 


94  THE   ANARCHIST 

memory!  A  bloody  vision  of  the  Past!  And  the 
Church,  serene  and  great,  was  never  as  grand  as  now, 
when  the  eyes  of  the  world  turn  instinctively  to  the 
Fisherman's  successor  for  guidance,  sympathy,  and 
help!  The  Church  will  throw  its  invincible  mantle 
over  the  hearth  and  home!" 

As  Doctor  Carl  Stein  drove  past  Adrian's  mole,  he 
wondered  if  the  keen-eyed  cardinal  spoke  prompted 
by  secret  reports  of  his  dark  belief?  Did  the  vigorous 
churchman  know  of  the  threatened  general  attack  on 
life,  property  and  society!  "We  watch  and  spy  on 
them!  why  not  they  on  us?"  And,  brave  as  he  was, 
Carl  Stein  trembled  at  the  memories  of  Netchayeff, 
whose  infamous  betrayal  of  Bakunin's  dark  plans, 
brought  two  hundred  of  the  secret  brotherhood  into 
the  hands  of  the  hangman  or  under  the  knout!  "These 
priests  are  wily,  they  have  gold,  they  work  on  woman 
hood's  credulity.  May  there  not  be  a  modern  'Netch 
ayeff'  in  our  midst?" 

And  Carl  Stein,  as  he  arrayed  himself  for  the  din 
ner  party  of  his  intended  dupe,  passed  in  review 
every  face  at  the  secret  meeting  by  the  shores  of  blue 
Lake  Leman!  "We  were  quadruple  the  apostles  in 
number!  Was  there  even  one  Judas?" 

"Human  nature!  alas!  ever  untrue  to  its  highest 
self-imposed  obligations!"  The  gloomy  anarchist  failed 
to  see  that  the  spy  and  traitor  to  their  dark  purposes 
would  only  in  the  extreme  verify  their  own  doctrine 
of  personal  freedom  and  unrestrained  human  volition! 
Treason  to  the  truth  itself,  would  verify  Bakunin's 
code  of  the  absolute  destruction  of  all  things — even 
conventional  human  character. 

While  the  afternoon  sun  threw  a  warmer  glow  on 
the  cardinal's  red  vestments  as  he  watched  the  Ger- 


THE   ANARCHIST  95 

man  savant  leave  his  presence,  the  old  dignitary  made 
a  few  notes. 

"Dangerous — to  be  watched — past  history  suspi 
cious" — and  affixing  the  name  of  Carl  Stein,  folded 
it  in  the  credentials  the  student  philosopher  had  pre 
sented. 

Under  the  witching  influence  of  these  sunny  hours, 
Lord  Alfred  Beauford  rode  through  the  arched  shades 
of  the  Borghese  at  the  side  of  Evelyn  Hartley.  A 
strange  cameraderie  drew  them  together.  Beauford 
was  alone  in  the  world!  Tlje  aspiring  American 
maiden  doubly  so  by  the  embittered  alienation  of  her 
vain  and  egotistic  mother.  As,  in  the  weeks  of  the 
rapidly  growing  friendship,  with  womanly  frankness, 
Evelyn  Hartley  unveiled  her  unsullied  feelings  to 
the  calm  patrician,  this  gentle  trust  opened  to  him 
vistas  of  a  bright,  clear,  brave  womanhood.  Uncon 
scious  of  the  keen  interest  of  the  veteran  traveler, 
warmed  with  the  fresh  feelings  of  the  realization  of 
her  varied  studies,  the  lonely  heiress  gave  him  her 
confidence  and  led  him  on  to  the  knowledge  of  a  differ 
ent  femininity  than  the  coldly  conventional  good 
"society  form"  of  his  own  circle. 

The  instinctive  distrust  of  innocence  led  her  away 
from  the  jaded  epicurianism  of  the  admiral.  His  self- 
restraint,  his  veteran  coolness,  the  induration  of  his 
heart  was  as  evident  as  the  perfect  oolish  of  the 
manners  which  were  his  social  armor. 
,  Already,  though  his  fires  of  life  were  waning,  Hora 
tio  Walton  dreamed  of  being  the  arbiter  of  his  ward's 
destiny,  and  under  the  silver-gray  olives  planned  to 
broaden  and  extend  his  influence.  Certain  pleasures 
had  not  wholly  lost  their  zest,  the  control  of  money, 
with  its  sense  of  concrete  power,  yet  allured  him, 


96  THE  ANARCHIST 

and  the  sailor  clubman  furtively  regarded  each  day's 
unfolding  of  the  nature  of  the  lovely  girl,  now  blos 
soming  into  its  fruition! 

In  Alfred  Beauford,  Evelyn  met  the  haughty 
selfrespsct  and  high  pride  of  an  elevated  nature. 
Confined  within  the  limits  of  caste,  stately  and  unde 
monstrative,  the  young  noble  had  yet  the  real  glow  of 
manhood  on  his  brow,  and  to  an  irreproachable  man 
ner,  added  a  certain  respect,  dignified  courtesy,  and 
deference  which  was  a  mute  flattery  to  the  daughter 
of  a  self-made  American  inventor. 

Past  moss-green  fountains,  through  shaded  alleys, 
down  into  dells  where  a  ruined  marble  faun  peeped 
through  the  neglected  foliage,  on  out  by  the  red,  dusty 
woods  where,  basket  on  back,  the  sullen  peasants 
trudged,  the  nobly  mated  couple  rode. 

Bits  of  old  adventure,  glimpses  of  travel,  stories 
of  his  world-wanderings,  made  Beauford's  conversation 
a  mosaic  of  varied  romance.  It  was  with  heightened 
color  and  dreamy  eyes,  the  handsome  American  guided 
her  tired  thoroughbred  through  the  maze  of  the  even 
ing  Corso  on  the  Pincian.  Music  floated  away  on  the 
thin  air,  and  the  sun  threw  his  last  rays  on  the  dome 
of  St.  Peters,  All  unconscious  of  her  growing  fame, 
Evelyn  Hartley  rode,  ignoring  the  admiring  glances 
of  cavalieri,  tourists  and  the  flaneurs  of  fashion  who  all 
well  knew  by  Rumor's  tongue,  the  potency  of  the 
Hartley  millions. 

Suddenly  an  exquisite  face  in  a  carriage  caught  her 
eye.  A  woman  of  twenty-five,  robed  in  deepest  black, 
was  leaning  forward  with  an  eager  smile  of  surprise. 

Turning  her  head,  Evelyn  Hartley  saw  Lord  Beau- 
ford  bowing  to  his  horse's  mane.  The  curve  of  the 
Corso  swept  the  equestrians  away  and  the  heiress  only 


THE   ANARCHIST  97 

noted  a  duenna-like  companion  in  the  carriage  bend 
ing  her  head  in  conference  with  the  beautiful  stran 
ger.  "She  is  very  lovely,"  murmured  Evelyn  Hartley, 
as  her  escort  followed  with  his  eyes  the  now  distant 
carriage. 

"Isabel  Ventnor  was  the  reigning  beauty  five  years 
ago  and  her  appearance  on  'presentation'  was  a  social 
event!  I  did  not  know  of  her  arrival.  When  she 
married  General  Dunham  and  went  to  India,  all  was 
bright  before  her.  Dunham  died  a  few  months  ago, 
a  victim  of  the  Indian  climate.  I  was  not  aware  of  her 
return!" 

"You  know  her  well?"  hazarded  the  heiress.  Some 
thing  in  Beauford's  voice  touched  her  heart. 

"We  were  nearest  neighbors.  Lord  Ventnor  and  my 
father  were  fellow-diplomats  together.  I  have  not 
seen  her  since  I  went  to  South  America.  I  was  absent 
from  England  when  she  married.  Poor  Isabel !  You 
surely  saw  the  Hall.  It  is  only  three  miles  from  Jer- 
vaux!  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Beauford,  "1  forgot  that 
you  have  not  yet  seen  my  Yorkshire  home!" 

"No!  I  was  away  when  my  mother  leased  your 
country  seat!"  The  girl's  heart  smote  her  at  the 
estrangement  which  left  her  homeless. 

"You  will  see  the  finest  place  in  Yorkshire  when 
you  go  there.  I  presume  Lady  Dunham  will  reside 
at  the  Hall.  You  will  surely  like  her.  A  superior 
nature!"  Beauford  was  musing  as  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  down  the  incline. 

"And  am  I  also  a  superior  person?  Is  that  the  rea 
son?"  Evelyn  Hartley  wished  to  rouse  her  friend 
from  his  passing  cloud  of  sadness. 

"You  are  so  different — I  beg  pardon,  Miss  Hartley," 
stammered  Beauford,  "from  all  the  American  women, 


g8  THE   ANARCNIST 

I  ever  met!  I  feel  sure  you  and  Isabel  will  get  on 
well  with  each  other!  As  a  rule,  our  people  really  hold 
mosu  of  your  sisters  off  a  bit; — they  are  often  unusual 
types  of  character  to  us!" 

"And  your  friend  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  Lord  Beau- 
ford,"  Evelyn  answered. 

"After  many  years!  It  is  strange!  As  I  leave  to 
morrow  night  for  Vienna,  it  will  be  only  a  glimpse. 
If  1  can  arrange  my  affairs,  Maitland  and  I  will  go  to 
the  far  East  as  soon  as  he  can  enjoy  it!  I  do  not  wish 
to  wait  till  Central  and  Farther  Asia  has  fallen  under 
the  hands  of  the  syndicated  hotels  and  Thomas  Cook 
and  Son!  You  are  more  likely  to  be  near  Isabel 
than  I.  I  presume  you  will  reside  with  your  mother 
this  winter?" 

"I  may  remain  on  the  Continent!"  confusedly  said 
Evelyn.  "I  have  a  wish  to  see  German  civilization  at 
home.  I  have  been  largely  indebted  to  its  poets  and 
authors  for  my  later  hours  of  soul-communion.  I  can 
not  seem  to  get  in  accord  with  French  thought!  There 
is  an  unrest  in  the  national  character  which  disconcerts 
and  baffles  me!  And  if  your  friend  does  not  immedi 
ately  mend?"  she  said,  as  they  turned  into  the  Hotel 
de  Russie  gardens. 

"I  will  go  out  alone!  I  have  little  to  call  me  back 
to  England.  But  I  shall  certainly  see  you  before  we 
leave!" 

There  was  that  in  his  hopeless  manner  which  told 
of  a  haunting  sorrow,  a  passionate  longing,  "wild  with 
all  regret."  To  the  American  girl  it  called  up  the 
kisses  "by  hopeless  fancy  feigned  on  lips  that  are  for 
others," — "the  days  that  are  no  more!" 

While  Evelyn  Hartley  in  state  entertained  the  bril 
liant  anarchist,  at  a  dinner,  served  cozily  "en  famille" 


THE  ANARCHIST  99 

.in  their  private  dining-rooms,  the  Admiral  falling  a 
victim  to  Stein's  versatile  and  sparkling  conversation, 
the  heiress,  bit  by  bit,  unraveled  the  purport  of  the 
professor's  visit,  half  tourist  visit,  half  concealed 
embassy. 

With  an  intuition  surprising  to  the  scholar,  Evelyn 
Hartley  said  as  they  watched  the  far-off  light  gleam 
ing  from  immortal  Angelo's  dome,  "I  have  submitted 
the  question  of  my  future  residence  during  my  minor 
ity  and  the  period  of  the  trust  to  my  guardians  in 
writing.  I  feel,  Professor,  that  my  education  should 
have  ended  at  the  nursery  door  were  I  to  tie  myself 
to  my  mother's  incessant  caprices.  The  great  world 
opens  its  arms  to  me!  The  world  of  Thought!  The 
grand  chorus  of  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Goethe, 
Cervantes,  Milton,  Racine,  is  borne  along  by  throb 
bing  hearts  to-day!  I  have  entered  the  portals  of  the 
treasure  houses  of  antiquity!  My  eyes  have  rested 
on  the  castles  of  the  great  Italians.  The  roar  of  Lon 
don,  the  fever  of  Paris,  the  dreamy  beauty  of  Sorrento, 
the  awful  silence  of  the  Colosseum,  all  have  swept  away 
the  veil  of  distance,  the  eclipse  of  my  pent-up  child 
hood." 

"Wherever  the  human  heart  has  beat  in  aspiration, 
where  the  dust  of  ages  lingers  in  the  ruined  palaces  of 
the  Caesars  by  the  storied  Rhine,  in  the  great  scenes 
of  the  awakened  life  of  man  since  the  Dark  Ages,  were 
iit  up  by  the  Renaissance,  there  is  my  place! 

"Not  sitting  with  folded  hands  linked  to  an  alien 
soul  in  a  tyrant  body  !  I  will  be  of  the  great  world ! 
I  will  feel  the  sweep  of  its  mighty  aortal  current!  I 
will  joy  of  its  joys!  It  may  be  sorrow  of  its  sorrows! 
But  I  shall  have  lived  my  life!  I  am  the  inheritor  of 
my  father's  spirit!  The  luxuries  of  intellectual  life 


IOO  THE   ANARCHIST 

denied  him,  the  mingling  free  handed  with  the  world,  on 
the  equality  of  mental  capacity,  which  he  could  not 
reach, are  his  last  and  greatest  gift  to  me!  His  life  was 
a  sacrifice  to  the  unyielding  demands  of  an  egotistic 
companion!  I  have  his  confidence,  his  secret  counsels 
binding  my  living  soul  to  his  dead  heart!  I  am  sub 
ject  to  no  tyranny  of  selfishness.  My  life  is  a  high  and 
holy  trust.  I  will  live  it  as  an  American  woman 
should! 

"The  trammels  of  obsolete  customs,  alien  laws,  self 
ish  legislation  and  conventional  fetichism  shall  not 
doom  me  in  my  golden  days  to  sit  in  shadows,  nor 
with  folded  hands! 

"I  shall  have  the  answer  of  Judge  Fox  in  a  few  days; 
with  the  written  sanction  of  Admiral  Walton.  I  shall 
fix  my  residence  for  the  winter  in  Germany,  Switzer 
land,  the  Low  Countries,  Austria  or  wherever  my  wan 
dering  life  studies  may  lead." 

"And  later?"   Professor  Stein  eagerly  queried. 
"When  I  have  fulfilled  my   father's    wishes,  I    shall 
return  and  carry  out,  at    home,  the    grand    unfinished 
work  of  his  maturer  years.     This    is  a    declaration    of 
independence,  Doctor  Stein!"  said  Evelyn  smiling. 

"Shall  I  intimate  these  views  to  Mrs.  Hartley?"  the 
professor  cautiously  asked. 

"It  is  as  well!  I  thoroughly  appreciate  that  she  has 
returned  to  her  highest  ideal  of  earthly  happiness. 
To  be  received  as  a  long  absent  but  repentant  member 
of  an  English  county  family!  The  divergence  of  the 
roads  is  slight.  It  leads  afar  in  time.  I  naturally 
divined  the  object  of  your  summons  to  England.  I 
am  an  American  woman  and,  in  heart  and  spirit,  will 
so  remain!  There  is  nothing  admirable  in  life  which 
the  institutions  of  my  own  country  do  not  give  me! 


THE  ANARCHIST  101 

It  is  only  in  my  own  land  that  woman  has  received  a 
recognition  of  her  undoubted  right  to  social  and  intel 
lectual  as  well  as  legal  equality.  Find  me  a  statute 
on  our  books  degrading  woman,  it  will  have  the  ear 
marks  of  radical  religious  or  feudal  brutality  and  in- 
justice;  Our  women  ask  for  no  thrones!  They  will 
not  be  pampered  favorites  or  silenced  drudges!  They 
demand  a  life  wherein  their  sex  brings  no  penalty,  and 
their  womanhood  is  no  bar  to  the  exercise  of  head  and 
heart!  Whatever  concerns  the  community  is  the  her 
itage  of  Duty  to  be  equally  divided  between  the  men 
and  women  of  America!  1  would  not  take  the  glitter 
of  a  coronet  with  its  dead  weight  pressing  on  my  brow. 
I  ask  for  the  freedom  of  God,  of  country,  of  the  higher 
life,  of  all  that  is  meant  by  the  aspirations  of  a  woman's 
heart!  My  life  shall  be  my  own!" 

As  she  turned  and  left  the  room,  Admiral  Walton 
said  calmly  to  Professor  Stein,  as  he  offered  a  cigar, 
"My  niece  has  my  full  support  in  her  decision,  Doctor. 
Caroline  can  inflict  her  imperious  self-will  upon  her 
servants  and  attendants.  There  is  no  modern  warrant 
for  the  sacrifice  of  a  human  soul.  It  would  save  dis 
cussion  if  you  would  intimate  to  Mrs.  Hartley  that  the 
views  which  I  know  are  shared  by  Judge  Fox.  Caro 
line  will  not  be  lonely  a  moment!  She  will  be  busied 
in  the  affairs  of  the  one  being  on  earth  she  loves  — 
herself!" 

As  Carl  Stein  walked  home  under  the  stars  shining 
on  the  seven  hills  where  the  captive  kings  of  the 
world  were  gathered  to  grace  the  Roman  holiday,  he 
saw  the  fact  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  emancipation.  "She 
drifts  toward  me!  Into  my  labyrinth!  But  no  ordi 
nary  meshes  will  hold  this  bright,  brave  young  being! 
It  is  an  affair  of  the  highest  school !  To  conquer, 


102  THE  ANARCHIST 

to  enslave  a  human  heart!  But  for  the  Cause,  her 
millions  shall  be  poured  out !  I  swear  it,  even  on  the 
ruined  altars  of  mighty  Rome!" 

There  was  a  dreamy  light  in  Lord  Beauford's  eyes 
as  he  busied  himself  in  preparation  for  a  visit  to  Lady 
Dunham. 

On  his  dressing-table  the  picture  of  a  radiant  woman 
looked  up  at  him.  The  miniature  could  not  give  the 
splendid  tenderness  of  her  violet  eyes  or  the  golden 
wealth  of  hair  shading  her  fair  brows,  back  to  him! 
He  held  the  costly  trifle  in  his  hand  and  gently  laid  it 
on  a  faded  rose  which  fell  from  the  envelope.  Isabel 
Ventnor's  face  was  pictured  in  his  heart.  There  was 
one  last  look  of  her  eyes  which  still  haunted  him ! 
Through  silken  lashes  they  were  gemmed  with  spark 
ling  tears!  He  started,  for  a  voice  seemed  to  whis 
per,  as  once,  "Good-bye,  forever!" 

And  now,  that  Death  had  strangely  given  back  her 
freedom,  the  young  patrician  dared  not  ask  his  heart 
the  question  of  the  future.  For  across  his  doubting 
mind,  the  face  of  Evelyn  Hartley  passed,  glowing  in 
the  bright  enthusiasm  of  her  noble  soul. 

With  a  sigh  Alfred  Beauford  lifted  a  letter  from  the 
heap  of  easily  recognized  trifles.  It  was  in  the  formal 
flourish  of  his  solicitors.  He  opened  it,  and  as  his  eye 
ran  ever  the  formal  lines,  a  spasm  of  agony  distorted 
his  habitually  impassive  face. 

"This  is  the  end  of  it  all!"  he  groaned,  throwing 
himself  into  a  great  chair.  His  eyes  were  riveted  to 
the  last  paragraph. 

"We  regret  to  inform  you  that  the  long-threatened 
proceedings  under  the  'Incumbered  Estates  Act,'  have 
been  entered  upon.  We  trust  your  Lordship  will  aid 
us  in  every  way  to  endeavor  to  prevent  this  family 


THE    ANARCHIST  103 

property  being  lost  forever.  It  is  not  without  a  sense 
of  duty  well  done,  we  call  your  lordship's  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  enormous  expenses  of  your  father's 
diplomatic  career  were  the  origin  of  this  sad  situation. 
It  is  not  to  your  own  actions  or  our  remissness  that 
the  loss  of  Jervaux  Priory  can  be  traced.  The  lease 
of  one  year  to  Mrs.  Caroline  Hartley  will  remain  valid, 
but  unless  arrangements  can  be  made  to  discharge  the 
settled  incumbrances,  a  forced  sale  at  the  end  of  the 
tenant's  term  will  be  decreed." 

The  young  noble,  for  the  first  time  since  his  man 
hood,  felt  the  moisture  of  unshed  tears  trembling  on 
his  eyelid. 

"It  must  go!  My  life  goes  with  it!  What  need  to 
tell  it  to  Isabel?  The  wild  horses  of  Ruin  and  Despair 
race  faster  than  human  thought!  She  will  know  it 
soon  enough!" 

And  "Good-bye  forever"  seemed  to  be  voiced  once 
more  in  the  silence  as  Beauford  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 


BOOK  II 

LOVE   TOOK   UP  THE  HARP  OF  LIFE 

CHAPTER  V 

AFTER  MANY  YEARS  ! — A     GOOD     SAMARITAN — STEIN'S     PUP 
PET  PLAY 

DARKER  shadows  hovered  over  Alfred  Beauford  than 
those  falling  on  the  deserted  by-street  from  crumbling 
palace  and  lonely  church  as  he  slowly  sought  Lady 
Dunham's  apartments.  The  gloomy  shades  rested  on 
the  young  noble's  heart! 

"I  must  go!  I  will  look  on  her  face  again!  But  it 
will  be  'adieu,  forevermore!'"  he  murmured  as  he  read 
her  few  lines.  "I  shall  be  here  for  the  winter!  I 
expect  to  see  you  at  once.  Come  to-night."  In  past 
days  his  heart  would  have  leaped  up  at  the  very  name 
"Isabel,"  traced  in  the  womanly  hand  he  knew  so 
well. 

"What  is  there  lett  me  now?"  he  bitterly  thought. 
"The  services  are  closed  to  me!  Diplomacy  has  been 
the  ruin  of  my  house !  A  profession!"  He  revolted 
at  the  idea  of  a  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  the  thou 
sands  of  surplus  university  men  of  his  land. 

"To  accept  some  mere  pittance  and  to  see  Jervaux 
Priory  the  home  of  some  'Golden  dustman !'  I  will 

104 


THE   ANARCHIST  105 

leave  England  forever!  Somewhere  in  the  great  East 
I  will  hicfe  myself!  To  lift  the  burden  hanging  over 
the  estate  is  impossible! 

"Thank  God!  A  duty  lies  near  me!  I'll  run  up 
and  stay  by  Phil,  poor  old  chap!  From  Venice  lean 
write  to  Miss  Evelyn.  What  I  have  to  say  to  Isabel 
is  soon  said.  Eighty  thousand  pounds!  They  might 
as  well  ask  me  to  move  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar  into 
the  dales  of  Yorkshire!" 

His  frank  manly  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  set  and 
stern  as  he  toiled  up  the  marble  stair  of  the  palace, 
whose  princely  proprietor  nursed  his  poverty  at  a 
distance.  The  stranger  lords  of  ease,  the  petted  chil 
dren  of  fortune  dwelt  in  the  great  house  where  the 
Orsini  and  the  Colonna,  rival  gallants,  had  played  the 
social  comedy  for  the  hand  of  fair  patrician  heiresses. 
Cardinals  in  state  and  priceless  lace  had  swept  the 
silent  halls  with  their  robes,  tragedy  dark-browed 
lingered  in  the  ghostly  echoes  of  the  marble  pile. 

No  sadder  heart  ever  beat  within  the  massive  walls 
than  the  ruined  English  noble  carried  to  his  tryst  with 
the  lost  love  of  his  first  youth. 

As  Lord  Beauford  entered  the  waiting-room,  draped 
with  old  tapestries  and  hung  with  'cinque-cento'  armor, 
his  listless  mood  was  broken  by  magic. 

Fairer  than  of  old,  with  gentle  womanly  eagerness, 
Isabel  Dunham  drew  aside  the  portiere  of  her  brilliant 
salon!  Standing  on  the  threshold  with  beaming  eyes 
of  light,  her  soft  draperies  clinging  to  her  exquisite 
form,  the  woman  he  once  loved  held  out  the  blue- 
veined  hands  he  had  once  kissed!  Bewildered,  under 
the  spell  of  her  voice,  waking  his  heart  echoes,  daz 
zled  by  the  flash  of  jewels,  Alfred  Beauford  saw  not 
the  tenderness  shining  in  her  face!  He  only  heard 
the  sweet  low  words. 


IO6  THE  ANARCHIST 

"I  knew  you  would  come,  Alfred!" 

Seated  by  her  side,  with  a  few  broken  words  of  wel 
come,  he  dimly  recalled  the  day  of  their  parting. 
Even  in  the  meeting  by  the  Tiber!  For  her  golden 
hair  fell  over  brows  as  girlish,  her  blue  eyes  in  their 
sapphire  depths  bore  no  trace  of  the  passing  years! 
The  cadence  of  her  voice,  the  very  faint  perfume  of 
the  Parma  violets!  It  was  the  same  Isabel! 

"Have  you  been  ill?  You  are  looking  worn!"  cried 
Isabel,  her  woman  heart  awakened  to  a  vague  danger 
threatening  the  present.  It  was  no  longer  that  future 
toward  which  she  had  looked  since  her  foot  turned 
homeward  from  India. 

"Thanks!  I  am  not  exactly  myself!  I  was  on  the 
eve  of  leaving  Rome.  But  for  this  visit,  I  would  be 
already  on  my  way  to  Vienna.  I  have  a  friend  lying 
ill  there." 

"You  will  return  at  once,  I  hope?" 

Lady  Isabel  tried  no  art  to  quiet  the  tremor  of  her 
voice. 

"It  is  improbable,  I  fear,"  slowly  said  Beauford. 
"I  was  on  the  eve  of  a  three-years'  voyage  to  Central 
Asia  when  Maitland,  my  chum,  was  stricken  down. 
His  condition  is  serious.  As  he  is  an  American,  and 
far  from  his  friends,  I  must  join  him  at  once!  Philip 
may  be  able  to  go  on.  I  shall,  in  any  case,  not  return 
to  England.  Should  the  worst  happen,  which  God 
forbid,  I  shall  yet  go  on  to  the  East  later." 

"And  has  England  no  place  in  your  heart,  Alfred?" 
impulsively  said  the  anxious  woman. 

"Tell  me  of  yourself,  Isabel,"  answered  Beauford. 
"As  for  my  future,  it  is  as  vague  as  the  way  of  the 
winds  or  the  path  of  the  storm.  'The  old  order 
changes,  you  know,  and  to  my  father's  service  for 


THE   ANARCHIST  107 

the  Crown,  we  owe  the  ruin  of  our  house.  My  foot 
will  never  cross  the  threshold  of  Jervaux  Priory,  as 
master,  again!  I  shall  try  to  lose  myself,"  he  faintly 
smiled,  "in  the  heart  of  Asia!  For  I  am  doomed  to 
be  the  last  Beauford." 

"Can  nothing  be  done?  Is  there  no  way  to  avert 
this?"  questioned  the  beautiful  young  woman,  in  whose 
kindly  eyes  tears  were  trembling.  The  story  of  im 
pending  disaster  then  had  reached  her! 

"The  case,  alas !  is  a  hopeless  one  !"  answered  Alfred, 
whose  eyes  told  him  that  Isabel  Dunham  was  suffer 
ing  also  for  the  sins  of  the  fathers  now  visited  upon 
their  children. 

The  woman  he  had  once  loved  rose  and  paced  the 
room  with  swift  strides,  pressing  her  hands  to  her 
temples,  and  only  in  the  graceful  richness  of  her 
womanly  form  she  differed  from  the  shy  girl  who 
lingered  under  the  old  oaks  of  Ventnor  to  meet  him 
in  the  dead  days  of  the  past. 

"But  you  must  tell  me  of  yourself,  Isabel!  I  would 
know  of  your  future,  your  plans,  your  life  to  come!" 
Beauford  started  as  she  answered.  Her  voice  was 
strangely  muffled. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  speak  of  that  now."  she  said, 
and  he  could  hear  the  choking  back  of  a  sob.  "It  will 
be  all  so  new,  so  strange,  so  lonely!  There  must  be 
some  way  found — your  friends — " 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Beauford,  rising,  and  his  voice 
took  on  the  icy  coldness  of  the  hauteur  which  comes 
of  the  proud  heart's  keenest  pangs.  "I  must  beg  you 
to  spare  me.  There  is  no  one  who  has  the  right  to 
go  farther  than  the  impending  ruin.  Humiliation, 
shame  would  follow  which  I  could  not  bear!  Thank 
God!  I  will  leave  no  one  to  divide  my  legacy  of  scr 
ew!" 


I08  THE   ANARCHIST 

"Forgive  me,  Alfred!"  Lady  Dunham  murmured,  as 
she  turned  her  head  away.  "It  seems  so  hard  to 
lose  you,  to  hear  that  we  shall  have  a  world  between 
us  still!  Grant  me,  for  the  old  days,  one  favor — the 
last,  perhaps!" 

"I  will  do  anything,"  quickly  answered  Beauford, 
whose  heart  was  beating  wildly,  "if  you  will  now  tell 
me  of  yourself,  your  future.  What  may  I  do  that  you 
wish?" 

"Promise  me  that  you  will  not  go  away — out  to  that 
strange  far-away  world,  until  you  have  seen  me  once 
more !  I  have  much  to  say  to  you !  I  would  tell  you 
some  things  which  I  have  waited  for  years  to  impart. 
I  could  not  write  you.  Will  you  do  this?  I  will  not 
ask  you  to  linger.  If  your  friend  is  the  Maitland  who 
met  General  Dunham  in  India,  on  his  hunting  tour, 
he  is  a  man  who  is  worthy  of  your  care.  I  only  ask 
you  not  to  go  till  I  see  you!" 

"I  will  promise,  Isabel,"  said  Beauford  gently,  "for 
in  my  words  to  you,  I  can  feel  I  am  speaking  my 
farewell  to  Jervaux — to  Ventnor!"  His  voice  quick 
ened.  He  spoke  with  a  strange  hard  accent  of  regret. 
"A  woman's  hand  might  well  do  me  a  last  service — 
and — of  all  women,  you!" — There  was  a  silence  until 
she  said,  speaking  as  if  in  a  dream,  "I  shall  be  here  for 
the  winter.  You  will  write  me  of  your  movements,  of 
your  friend,  and,  as  I  will  do  your  bidding  at  home, 
we  must  meet!" 

"It  is  well!  I  shall  write.  Perhaps  even  better 
thus" — her  companion  said,  speaking  as  if  alone. 
"Now,  you  owe  me  your  confidence!"  There  was 
brightness  in  her  grateful  smile  as  Isabel  Dunham 
briefly  sketched  the  history  of  the  passing  years,  her 
plans  of  continental  residence  and  ultimate  return  to 


THE    ANARCHIST  IOQ 

England.  "As  much  alone  as  you  are,  I  have  promised 
Colonel  St.  Leger  to  share  his  wife's  loneliness  here, 
till  he  returns  on  his  promotion  and  retirement  next 
year.  This  is  my  only  present  plan,",  concluded  Lady 
Dunham,  whose  self-control  was  regained.  "You  must 
tell  me  now  of  your  friend,  the  beautiful  Miss  Evelyn 
Hartley.  All  Rome  knows  of  her  fabulous  wealth, 
her  loveliness  is  already  a  proverb." 

"I  shall  ask  Admiral  Walton  to  bring  her  to  you, 
Isabel.  As  he  and  you  are  friends,  and  her  mother 
has  taken  the  Priory  for  a  year,  you  should  know  each 
other.  Miss  Hartley  is  the  admiral's  niece.  You 
would  like  her,  for  she  is  not  the  type  of  the  bold 
American  heiress  whose  lance,  golden-tipped,  rings 
sharply  on  the  armorial  shields  of  our  land!" 

"You  do  not  fancy  Americans?"  softly  said  Isabel, 
with  half-closed  eyes. 

"It  is  a  noble  land.  I  admire  its  institutions.  I 
dislike  its  people  individually,  and  I  confess  without 
reason.  The  need  of  rest,  of  a  personal  atmosphere, 
the  nimbus  of  quiet  and  reserve  is  unknown  to  them. 
In  the  wild  rush  of  achievement  in  the  last  century, 
the  general  excitement  seems  to  be  carried  into  their 
hearts  and  homes.  But  this  girl  has  a  sunset  calm 
on  her  noble  face." 

"I  must  know  her — for  your  sake!"  answered  Isabel 
Dunham,  and  as  her  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  herself, 
her  dreaming  eyes  noted  a  bright  star  falling  athwart 
the  blue-black  skies  of  the  Campagna.  In  its  golden 
trail,  went  out  the  hope  of  a  life!  Isabel  Dunham 
shivered  slightly  as  the  thought  came  to  her  lonely 
heart  that  never  again  that  brightness  would  light  up 
the  blackness  infinite  beyond. 

There  was  a  spell  upon    them  both,  for   when  they 


IIO  THE    ANARCHIST 

parted  with  clasped  hands,  each  could  feel  the  life- 
blood  throbbing  in  the  bounding  pulses  of  a  love 
done,  parted  by  fate. 

"She  is  wonderfully  lovely,  the  Indian  sun  has  kissed 
into  a  richer  bloom  the  English  roses  on  her  face, 
but —  mused  Alfred  Beauford,  as  his  eye  noted  the 
lonely  ilex  waving  on  towering  hills  above  him  in  the 
silent  night,  "her  story  is  an  incomplete  one!  It  be 
gan  'When  I  went  out  to  India!'  To  see  me!  To  tell 
me  something!  What  can  she  tell  me  that  my  heart  has 
not  learned  in  the  wild  night  rides  in  South  America, 
on  the  lonely  decks  of  the  ship  in  the  South  Pacific. 
The  story  of  a  woman's  fatal  instability,  of  Ventnor' s 
cold  and  heartless  ambition,  of  my  father's  shattered 
fortunes,  the  story  of  five  lost  years,  of  a  loveburied 
in  the  tomb  of  the  Past ! 

"To  a  man  ruined,  going  out  as  a  wanderer,  the 
kind  'nepenthe'  of  silence  were  better!"  And  the 
sweep  of  the  night  winds  echoed  his  last  words,  "Too 
late!  Too  late!" 

Beauford  had  thrown  himself  down  to  sleep,  racked 
with  emotion  before  fair  Isabel  Dunham  turned  from 
her  mirror.  Seated  alone,  with  her  golden  hair  sweep 
ing  her  delicate  face  in  its  loosened  folds,  she  dreamed 
the  dreams  of  old  days.  She  was  looking  at  Isabel 
Ventnor,  once  more,  the  violet-eyed  girl  who  wan 
dered  in  the  shadowed  forests  of  Jervaux  with  its 
lord,  the  promise  of  his  youth  written  on  his  brow. 
There  under  the  silver  flood  of  light,  with  a  beating 
heart,  the  beautiful  English  patrician  heard  voices 
speaking  to  her  gently  of  the  old  days.  It  seemed  so 
strange,  so  sad,  this  midnight  vigil.  Gazing  at  herself 
with  her  hands  resting  idly  clasped  before  her,  it  was 
the  ghost  of  lovely  Isabel  Ventnor  in  the  glass,  which 


THE    ANARCHIST  III 

moved  its  lips  and  whispered,  "This  girl  has  a  sunset 
calm  on  her  noble  face." 

It  was  not  of  the  fair  American  she  thought  as  sleep 
came  to  her  tired  eyes.  It  was  of  a  man  whose  acco 
lade  of  sorrow  and  suffering  marked  him  as  the  prey 
of  Fate.  "If  I  could  keep  him,  if  I  dared  to  call  him 
back  to  tell  him  that  my  gold  would  be  poured  out  to 
keep  the  stranger's  foot  from  his  hearthstone,  would 
it  atone  for  the  past?" 

In  the  unreality  of  kindly  visions  of  the  night,  gentle 
Isabel  Dunham  found  surcease  of  this  new  sorrow. 
It  was  on  the  shadowy  wings  of  sleep,  her  loving  heart 
was  borne  out  over  the  bounds  of  sentient  sadness, 
away  from  the  burden  of  the  day.  The  angel  of  For- 
getfulness  touched  her  throbbing  temples.  In  all  the 
dreams  which  blessed  her  rest,  she  saw  no  shadow  of 
parting,  no  sentence  traced  by  the  finger  of  Fate. 

Before  the  anxious  Beauford  had  reached  Venice, 
Isabel  Dunham's  face  was  shaded  with  a  paleness  tell 
ing  of  a  struggle  between  mind  and  heart.  For,  face 
to  face,  she  had  spoken  calmly  to  the  girl  whose  em 
pire  over  her  lost  lover's  heart  she  never  questioned.  In 
gallant  old  Admiral  Walton's  courtly  chat,  she  found 
leisure  to  note  the  noble  beauty  of  the  American  stran 
ger.  Winning  and  spirited,  breathing  her  pure  soul's 
freshness  into  the  listener,  Evelyn  Hartley  uncon 
sciously  disarmed  her  unsuspected  rival.  By  natural 
sequence,  the  history  of  Beauford's  early  life  followed 
the  American's  relation  of  these  later  days. 

"And  you  know  his  friend?  Truly  the  world  is 
shrunken  nowadays!"  remarked  Lady  Dunham. 

"If  Philip  Maitland  has  forgotten  his  little  play 
mate,  I  have  never  ceased  to  think  of  him.  We  hope 
to  meet,  for  Admiral  Walton  designs  a  tour  to  the 


112  THE    ANARCHIST 

Tyrol  and  the  Swiss  lakes.  So  we  may  meet  at  Vienna, 
if  Lord  Beauford  takes  Philip  to  Schloss  Schwartzen- 
burg." 

The  girl's  frank  eyes  met  Isabel's  without  reserve. 
The  rapprochement  of  youth  and  glowing  womanhood 
drew  them  to  each  other,  aided  by  the  invisible  glamour 
of  a  net-work  of  tender  interest  in  the  calm-faced 
English  noble.  "We  cannot  but  be  friends,"  gently  said 
Isabel  Dunham  at  parting.  "We  shall  be  neighbors 
next  year.  My  placets  the  nearest  to  the  Priory  and 
I  will  show  you  all  the  beauties  of  Beauford' s  place. 
I  know  it  well!" 

Lady  Dunham  was  surprised  at  the  sudden  flash 
of  crimson  dyeing  Evelyn  Hartley's  cheeks.  "I  may 
not  go  to  England.  It  is  quite  probable  I  shall 
remain  on  the  Continent,"  said  the  American  as  she 
took  her  leave.  "But  you  must  come  to  us.  I  shall 
hold  the  admiral  responsible  !." 

"He  has  not  spoken  yet,"  thought  Lady  Dunham, 
as  Evelyn  Hartley's  footfall  died  away.  With  an 
effort  at  self-deception  she  gazed  upon  the  violets  sent 
as  Beauford' s  parting  token.  In  her  bosom  a  cluster 
of  the  fragrant  blossoms  rose  and  fell  upon  a  heart 
strangely  lightened. 

For  though  she  feared  that  the  beauty  of  the  west 
might  shine  her  down,  in  her  heart  the  loving  woman 
could  not  give  up  the  heart-treasured  romance  of  the 
past. 

Never  to  be  the  same  again  after  christening  of  lips 
pressed  in  first  love  is  the  one  man  who  can  never  be 
wholly  another's! 

A  part  of  the  soul's  history,  sacred,  never  to  be  the 
property  of  any  one,  is  the  consecration  of  the  sacred 
passion  lingering  in  a  woman's  heart.  In  the  inmost 


THE   ANARCHIST  113 

shrine  of  her  being,  Isabel  Dunham  tended  the  altar 
whereat  none  might  minister  but  the  man  whose  heart 
was  first  her  own! 

Evelyn  Hartley  was  strangely  silent,  as  their  carriage 
swept  around  the  Corso.  The  passionate  pleading 
music  unlocked  her  heart.  "No  wonder  that  he  finds 
her  the  fairest  of  all!  Her  face  is  a  dream  of  love 
liness!"  she  mused.  With  a  sudden  impulse  she  turned 
to  the  gallant  admiral  who  was  gayly  exchanging 
salutes  with  bright-eyed  Italian  maids  of  honor,  "Lord 
Beaufcrd  has  certainly  chosen  a  wonderfully  lovely 
woman."  Walton,  hat  in  hand,  carelessly  replied, 
"Isabel  is  even  handsomer  now  than  when  she  took 
London  by  storm !  I  presume  they  will  wait  a  season, 
'pour  les  convenances.'  But  there's  no  doubt  of  the 
marriage.  It  will  join  two  historic  properties.  An 
old  dream  of  the  Beaufords." 

Though  Evelyn  Hartley  was  dreaming  of  Philip 
Maitland,  lonely  and  sick  nigh  unto  death  in  Vienna, 
this  cold  reference  to  Beauford's  marriage  jarred  upon 
her  strangely.  Gallant,  sincere,  accomplished,  and 
high-souled,  the  reserved  young  patrician  had  become 
insensibly  a  part  of  her  daily  life.  "He  is  a  man  of 
another  world  than  ours,  a  land  of  sound  old  conserv 
atism,  of  ripened  manners,  of  stately  and  honest 
pride.  In  our  land,  men  do  not  seem  to  have  the 
time  to  follow  any  of  the  pursuits  which  make  up  the 
high  class  gentleman.  The  leisure  days  are  yet  to 
come!"  And  with  a  sigh  Evelyn  Hartley  noted  the 
knot  of  blush  roses  Beauferd  had  sent  in  parting, 
fading  one  by  one! 

Lord  Beauford  woke  from  the  strangest  visions  of 
the  night  to  find  himeslf  surrounded  by  the  chattering 

crowds  of  the  Milan  and  Venice  station,    The  breath 


114  THE   ANARCHIST 

of  crisp,  fresh,  salt  air  from  the  Adriatic  restored  him. 
The  wildest  imaginings  had  thrilled  his  over-excited 
nerves.  Under  the  old  oaks  of  Jervaux  he  walked 
again  with  Isabel  Ventnor,  her  eyes  glowing  with  the 
light  of  love!  "It  is  all  a  dream,  you  are  my  own 
forever,"  she  whispered  with  loving  lips.  "We  shall 
never  be  parted!"  And  on  the  threshold  of  his  father's 
halls,  the  calm-browed  American  met  him,  with  a 
smile,  greeting  his  home  coming.  "You  are  waited  for, 
Lord  Beauford!"  she  cried  in  her  deep,  earnest  voice, 
"Isabel  and  I  have  been  watching — watching!" 

In  the  chilly  gray  morning  the  canal  gleamed  deep 
and  cold,  the  mute  gondoliers  were  Charons  watching 
funereal  barges.  Mechanically,  Beauford  followed  his 
man  to  the  steps.  A  "grave,  professional  looking  man 
with  anxious  face  edged  toward  the  careworn  noble. 

"Do  I  address  Lord  Beauford?"  he  queried. 

Alfred  bowed  and  started  as  the  stranger  remarked, 
hurriedly,  "I  am  Doctor  Valeri.  Your  friend  is  at  a 
dangerous  juncture.  We  had  telegraphed  to  hasten 
you.  You  had  left  Rome.  It  may  be  soon  too  late  for 
you  to  aid!" 

The  startled  Englishman  marked  not  the  glories  of 
the  Canal azzo,  the  sculptured  palaces  bearing  the  proud 
escutcheons  of  the  masters  of  the  sea,  the  balconies 
whence  laughing  beauties  had  showered  roses  on  the 
passionate  lover  swinging  on  the  swelling  flood  of 
emerald  in  the  witching  moonlight.  The  land  of  Juliet 
seemed  to  him  shaded  with  misery.  His  ruin — the 
baffled  heart  waves  of  his  second  parting  from  Isabel, 
and  he  was  going  on,  in  the  coffin-like  gondola  to 
Philip  Maitland's  death-bed.  "I  should  warn  you, 
milord,  at  once,  that  nothing  but  the  extremest  good 
fortune  can  jijc|  us  hope  for  ycwr  friend  He  brought 


THE    ANARCHIST  115 

a  Roman  fever  here  and  the  marsh  malaria  has  lit  its 
fires  once  more !  I  am  told  he  has  property  and  is  a 
man  of  importance  in  his  country.  I  shall  leave  the 
dispositions  as  to  his  preparation  for  the  future  to 
you.  I  will  fight  for  his  life.  But  you,  his  only 
friend,  must  prepare  him  for  death." 

Alfred  Beauford's  impassive  face  never  changed  but 
his  heart  was  heavy,  as  he  whispered  "Poor  old  Phil! 
It's  a  forlorn  hope  then!"  As  the  gondola  grazed  the 
martle  steps  of  an  old  palace,  once  a  warrior's  princely 
home,  he  became  alert. 

"Hobson!  1  shall  want  you  to  send  some  telegrams 
at  once!"  "His  only  friend !"  Tiie  word  awakened  him 
to  a  sense  of  duty.  With  an  Englishman's  reserve,  he 
had  learned  little  of  Maitland's  private  history.  In 
this  sudden  trouble,  the  Greek-browed  playmate's 
lace  came  back  to  him. 

"I  will  telegraph  to  Miss  Hartley,  and  to  Walton. 
The  kind  old  admiral  will  bring  her  up!  There  may 
be  papers — a  will — last  wishes!  Yes!  It  is  my  duty!" 

"Can  I  stay  here?  I  must  be  with  him — to  the 
last,"  said  Beauford,  as  the  two  men  ascended  the 
stair. 

"There  are  two  sisters  nursing  him  wl^p  relieve  each 
other!  I  am  very  glad  you  will  stay,  milord,"  an 
swered  the  courtly  Italian. 

Beauford  felt  a  choking  in  his  throat  as  he  stood  by 
the  bed  where,  white  and  ghastly,  Philip  Maitland 
lay,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  a  strange  light!  With 
burning,  fevered  lips  he  muttered  words  none  could 
follow. 

At  a  sign  from  the  doctor  the  patient-faced  woman 
Bt  his  side  glided  into  an  inner  room.  The  murmur 
pi  consultation  broke:  on  Beauford's  ear.  and  his  hr-art 


Il6  THE    AXAR-G-HIST 

sank  as    Maitland's    wasted   hand    nervously    fingered 
the  draperies  of  his  bed. 

On  his  knees  beside  the  sufferer,  Beauford  whis 
pered:  "Phil,  speak  to  me.  It's  Beauford." 

And  the  sick  man,  with  trembling  lids,  sank  back 
in  a  vain  effort  to  rouse  himself  at  his  comrade's 
voice. 

A  touch  as  light  as  a  falling  snowflake  roused  him, 
and  the  sister  resumed  her  place  at  the  patient's  side. 

Lord  Alfred's  hasty  dispositions  were  soon  made. 

"Doctor  Valeri,"  he  said,  with  an  earnestness 
almost  startling,  "Maitland  is  all  I  have  left!  Spare 
nothing!  Call  in  your  professional  friends!  Let  me 
aid  in  every  way.  I  will  be  here  night  and  day!" 
The  good  doctor  sadly  smiled  approval  as  the  young 
noble  penned  his  telegrams.  "That  will  make  Wal 
ton  all  right,  I  know  the  old  sailor's  heart.  As  for 
Miss  Hartley,  if  she  is  the  woman  I  hold  her  to  be, 
her  heart  will  be  touched  by  Phil's  lonely  struggle 
with  death.  He  had  penned  these  words: 

Maitland's  condition  is  desperate.  If  you  know  anything 
of  his  affairs,  come  at  once.  It  may  be  too  late. 

While  Hol^on  departed,  Lord  Beauford  listened 
to  gentle  Sister  Louise,  to  whom  the  physician  gave 
the  orders  of  a  general  to  his  last  leader.  "Call  or 
me  in  any  way!  My  man  will  be  at  hand,"  urged 
Beauford,  and  the  nurse's  beautiful  dark  eyes  shone 
on  him  with  a  grateful  flush  of  womanly  sympathy. 
The  young  man's  eager  heart  went  out  to  her  at  once! 

Taking  her  hand  Lord  Beauford  said,  "We  will  work 
for  him  together." 

"And  aid  me  with  your  prayers,  Sister,  "  the  phy- 
M  MI)  murmured,  raising  his  hea4  from  his  note-book, 


THE    ANARCHIST  1 17 

The  twinkling  stars  were  mirrored  in  the  blue  Adri 
atic  and  the  songless  gondoliers  sped  along  like  shades 
of  night,  in  the  dusky  shadows,  when,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  Beauford  opened  a  dispatch. 

Coming  to-night.  Meet  us.  Thanks  for  your  prompt 
kindness. 

It  was  signed  Evelyn  Hartley. 

"Then  she  is  still  the  friend  of  other  years,"  the 
Englishman  gratefully  thought,  as  he  watched  the 
taper  faintly  gleaming  where  the  sister  hovered,  in 
anxious  care,  over  the  strong  man  laid  low! 

Poor  Maitland's  gaunt  frame,  his  pale  cheek  and 
caverned  eye-sockets,  proved  the  desperate  onslaught 
of  the  insidious  enemy. 

"He  has  youth,  a  strong  will,  and  unsapped  vital 
forces  to  aid  him,"  said  Doctor  Valeri,  when  they 
stood  by  the  sick  man  at  midnight.  The  daring  rider, 
the  hardy  traveler,  the  handsome  young  American 
athlete,  could  not  be  known  in  the  still  form  over  whose 
angular  limbs  the  drapery  fell  in  a  ghastly  suggestion 
of  the  last  rest.  The  feeble  tide  of  Life  ebbed  to  and 
fro,  and  Evelyn  Hartley's  graceful  form  was  familiar 
for  days  by  Maitland's  side  before  the  doctor  dared 
to  give  Beauford  further  hope.  Admiral  Walton's 
ready  suggestion  and  assistance  cheered  the  little 
band  of  helpers.  It  was  idle  to  dream  of  any  approach 
to  active  interference  for  the  sake  of  the  future. 

"If  he  recovers  his  mind,  we  may  endeavor  to  gain 
his  wishes,"  said  Valeri,  a.  week  later,  "but  now — 
only  these  noble  women  maybe  trusted  with  his  fate." 

As  the  days  passed  in  the  uncertainty  of  the  seem 
ingly  hopeless  struggle,  Alfred  Beauford's  undemon 
strative  nature  warmed  to  an  enthusiasm  foreign  to 


Il8  THE    ANARCHIST 

his  race  and  blood!  Doctor  Valeri,  tireless  and  as 
true  as  steel,  faced  the  impalpable  loe.  And  Beauford, 
gazing  on  Evelyn  Hartley,  knew,  day  by  day,  how 
sweet  and  low  her  voice  could  be,  how  unshaken  her 
constancy,  and  how  warm  the  womanly  heart  beating 
in  a  bosom  untroubled  by  the  storms  of  Love !  A 
graceful  presence,  bright  and  brave  in  her  young, 
fresh-hearted  enthusiasm,  the  man  of  a  conventional 
world  saw  the  noblest  side  of  womanhood! 

There  were  brighter  words  of  encouragement  daily 
from  the  assiduous  medical  man,  and  a  happy  circle 
gathered  to  hear  Sister  Louise  report  a  continued  gain 
in  Maitland's  strength.  Ten  days  after  Evelyn  Hart 
ley  brought  cheer  and  hope  with  her  as  handmaids, 
Philip  Maitland  opened  his  eyes  to  reason.  Through 
the  casement  the  strains  of  the  band  on  the  Place  St. 
Mark  gently  floated,  in  tender  melody. 

Sister  Louise,  with  a  smothered  cry  of  delight  bent 
over  the  sick  man's  couch. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  she  said  as  softly  as  the  falling 
leaves  of  the  forest  drifting  down. 

"You  are  an  angel.  You  are  watching  over  me," 
replied  Maitland,  his  hand  falling  back  in  exhaustion, 
for  he  had  striven  to  rise  as  the  music  swelled  out  in 
its  love  plaint. 

In  this  hard  world  of  ours  the  devoted  women  in  the 
modest  guise  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  lingering  by  the 
bed  of  pain,  praying  with  the  unfortunate,  closing  the 
eyes  of  friend  and  stranger,  are  the  epitome  of  unselfish 
womanhood. 

Panic  affrights  them  not,  pestilence  appalls  nott 
War  in  its  grim  ravages  may  not  stay  their  hands 
stretched  out  in  peace.  Wherever  the  human  heart 
suffers,  whenever  the  soul  is  whelmed  in  the  storms  of 


THK    AN  ARC' MIST  1  ILJ 

sorrow,  these  blessed  ministers  of  charity  are  at  the 
sufferer's  side.  Tn  an  agnostic  age,  in  a  world  often 
callous  to  the  cry  of  misery,  no  one  has  failed  to  hail 
these  self-devoted  workers  as  worthy  of  the  reward 
toward  which  they  strive.  Braver  than  the  soldier,  great 
in  heart,  meek  and  unobtrusive,  bright,  pure  and  true, 
with  steadfast  step  they  thread  the  scenes  of  human 
woe,  followed  by  the  gratitude  of  strangers,  the  love 
of  countless  thousands.  They  are  the  earthly  treas 
ures  of  the  Church! 

"Thank  her,  not  me,"  said  Doctor  Valeri,  turning 
to  the  gentle  nun  who  blushed  under  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  grateful  embrace,  and  Lord  Beauford' s  hearty 
greetings.  Only  the  faint  glow  of  the  sea-shell's  pink 
upon  her  delicate  cheek  told  the  happy  watchers  that 
Sister  Louise  was  a  woman,  after  all,  at  heart! 

On  her  knees  the  thankful  nurse  intoned  her  mur 
mured  prayers  to  the  Mother  of  Sorrows!  The  Gentle 
Star  of  the  Sea  ! 

"I  shall  stay  until  he  awakens,"  anxiously  said  the 
doctor.  "You  must  be  near  him,  Lord  Beauford,  you 
alone  !  He  knows  you  best  of  all !" 

Through  the  open  door,  Admiral  Walton5  joined  the 
waiting  friends,  while  the  Italian  lingered  until  slumber 
should  break  its  spell! 

All  started  up  as  Beauford  knelt  by  his  friend's  bed 
side.  Valeri's  lifted  finger  held  them  motionless  as 
the  agitated  watcher  said  gently,  "How  is  it,  Phil? 
You  know  me  now,  old  fellow!" 

"Have  I  been  here  long?  You  are  so  kind!"  replied 
Maitland.  "Did  I  get  hurt?  I  am  so  weak!"  He 
gazed  around  in  astonishment. 

"You  have  been  very  ill,  but  you  are  all  right!  We 
will  soon  have  a  pop  at  the  tigers,"  cried  the  over 
joyed  Briton.  "Now,  Phil,  tell  me  who  this  is." 


J20  THE    ANARCHIST 

There  were  trembling  tears  in  the  sweet  Sister 
Louise's  watchful  eyes  as  Maitland  gazed  at  the  noble 
face  of  the  American  heiress.  His  wasted  hand  stole 
feebly  out  of  its  cover. 

"Eve  Hartley?"  he  softly  said. 

Beauford  broke  down  as  the  stately  girl  stooped 
and  kissed  his  burning  brow. 

"Your  little  playmate,  Philip!"  she  whispered. 

"Don't  leave  me,  Evelyn!"  the  sick  man  cried,  as 
his  eyes  roved  from  one  friendly  face  to  another. 
"Where  is  your  father?  Why  is  he  not  here?  Ah!" 
He  closed  his  eyes  in  pain  as  Alfred  Beauford  laid 
his  finger  on  his  lips. 

A  week  later  Doctor  Valeri  delivered  an  oration 
which  electrified  the  coterie  who  were  now  tired  of 
watching  the  shifting  shadows  of  the  day,  break  and 
quiver  on  the  dark  flood  below  the  meadows. 

"I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  able  to 
travel  as  far  as  Vienna  now,"  said  the  physician, 
addressing  Maitland,  who  was  propped  up  in  a  nest  of 
pillows.  "I  have  written  a  colleague  who  will  meet 
you  and  see  you  safely  off  to  Schloss  Schwartzenburg. 
You  need  the  forest  hills,  keen  dry  air,  the  song  of 
the  birds,  and  the  huntsman's  chorus!" 

"Can  he  part  with  you,  with  Sisters  Louise  and 
Gertrude?  Is  it  safe  now,  Doctor?"  anxiously  inquired 
Lord  Beauford. 

"The  recovery  from  our  fevers  is  rapid  when  a  rad 
ical  change  of  climate  aids!"  answered  Doctor  Valeri 
smiling.  "I  will  have  several  campaigns  yet  here  of 
the  kind  and  my  field-marshals  must  aid  me!"  The 
happy  Italian  glanced  tenderly  at  the  meek  sisters, 
whose  dark  eyes  were  glowing  under  the  white  badges 
of  their  calling.  "Besides,  I  will  trust  everything  to 


THE    ANARCHIST  121 

Hartley  who  tells  me  that  Admiral  Walton  will 
escort  her  to  Vienna." 

"Is  this  really  so?"  joyously  exclaimed  Beauford, 
turning  to  stately  Evelyn  Hartley  whose  expressive 
face  was  tinged  with  a  deeper  rose  than  its  wonted 
hue. 

"I  have  many  things  to  recall  to  my  playmate,  the 
good  fairy  of  my  sick-room,"  said  Maitland,  whose 
hazel  eyes  and  clustering  golden  beard  lit  up  a  face  less 
white  and  pale  than  in  the  crisis.  His  eyes  danced 
merrily.  "Beauford,  they  won't  let  me  talk  much! 
Miss  Evelyn  has  a  five-years'  budget  of  home  news 
for  me!  I  am  privileged  to  listen." 

"If  we  go  to  Asia  it  may  be  our  last  meeting  for  two 
years.  I  wish  to  know  the  belle  whom  I  left  a  child 
under  governesses."  Maitlan/d's  tender  glance  was  not 
lost  on  Beauford.  "We  will  delay  a  few  days  at  Vienna, " 
added  Maitland,  "as  I  wish  to  meet  Professor  Stein 
also." 

"Will  he  join  you  there?"  quickly  asked  the  noble 
man. 

"He'is  arranging  some  business  forme  in  England," 
gravely  answered  Evelyn  Hartley,  "and  our  winter 
plans  may  turn  upon  it.  He  will  make  an  admirable 
cicerone  in  the  city  of  the  Hapsburgs. " 

The  words  "business  in  England"  sounded  like  a 
knell  in  Lord  Alfred's  ear  for,  in  his  eager  sympathy 
he  had  ignored  the  demands  of  his  solicitors  for  a 
conference  with  a  trusted  representative  on  the  subject 
of  the  future  of  Jervaux. 

"I  shall  be  obliged  to  remain  some  time  in  Vienna 
myself!"  he  slowly  remarked,  "I  have  friends  whom 
you  will  like!" 

"And  it  is    an   old    snug  harbor   of  mine,"    heartily 


122  THF     W.V'-fifSt 

cried  Admiral  Walton.  "Mark  me,  Vienna  will  be  the 
last  citadel  of  exclusiveness.  Steadfast  and  haughty, 
facing  clouded  futures,  the  exclusive  Court  of  Vienna 
has  heed  to  form  and  rank!  The  'personally  con 
ducted*  are  not  the  arbiters  of  Viennese  salons!" 

"I  must  telegraph  at  once  and  have  it  out  with  the 
lawyers  there.  It  is  only  honest,"  bitterly  mused  Beau- 
ford,  "for  I  may  have  to  give  up  my  Asian  trip  with 
Maitland.  I  must  tell  him  all!  When?  Perhaps  at 
Vienna!" 

When  a  notable  gathering  at  the  station  attested 
the  interest  in  the  handsome  young  American's  con 
valescence,  but  two  faces,  grown  strangely  dear,  were 
absent.  Sisters  Louise  and  Gertrude,  in  their  convent 
cells,  sent  up  prayers  for  their  departing  charge  whose 
splendid  thank-offering  was  already  devoted  to  their 
works  of  mercy.  "You  will  send  us  your  picture  when 
you  are  entirely  restored?"  shyly  said  Sister  Louise, 
in  parting.  "And  ours?"  With  a  gentle  laugh,  she  an 
swered:  "we  ceased  to  be  women  when  we  became 
Sisters.  We  are  all  alike!  You  may  remember  us! 
That  will  be  a  picture  you  will  have  always  with  you" 

In  long  later  years,  Philip  Maitland,  when  his  tall 
frame  was  reknit,  his  feet  treading  distant  paths,  could 
close  his  eyes  and  fancy  that  the  gentle  footfall  of  his 
kindly  nurse  was  waking  the  silence,  that  her  eyes 
were  shining  on  him  in  his  dreams.  "I  shall  have  your 
picture  always  in  my  heart,  Sister  Louise!  You  are 
right!"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand  for  the  last  time. 

"It  is  a  gallant  gentleman,  the  young  American!" 
soliloquized  Doctor  Valeri  as  the  shrieking  train 
dragged  them  from  his  sight.  "And  the  beautiful  one 
with  the  eyes  of  the  doe,  shall  it  be  him  she  will 
love?  Or  the  English  milord?  A  noble  youth,  he 


THE   ANARCHIST  123 

too,  can  not  resist  that  most  gracious  presence.  She 
needs  but  the  Italian  warmth  to  be  a  wonder,  a  perfect 
beauty  of  our  later  day!" 

The  staid  physician  himself  was  not  insensible  to 
Evelyn  Hartley's  spell,  the  entrancing  thrall  of  an 
ardent  woman's  graceful  self-denial  and  winning 
charm! 

"When  she  comes  back  to  Vienna,  I  must  see  how 
she  has  chosen!  May  the  sunlight  linger  always  on 
her  fair  brow!" 

The  sun  streaming  in  the  windows  of  a  splendid 
apartment  on  the  Josephplatz  brought  a  touch  of  the 
inherent  brightness  of  Vienna  to  Philip  Maitland's 
face  as  he  lay  a  week  later  watching  Alfred  Beauford 
hastily  disposing  of  an  accumulation  of  letters.  The 
merry  notes  of  a  quickstep  resounded  in  the  great 
square  where  a  regimental  orchestra  was  delighting 
the  mercurial  loungers. 

"Beauford,  where  are  our  friends?"  said  Maitiand, 
tossing  away  a  Galignani.  "They  are  at  Schonnbrun 
for  the^  afternoon.  Stein  and  Count  Oborski  are  show-, 
ing  them  the  wonders  of  the  Imperial  palaces," 
answered  Beauford,  locking  his  dispatch  box  with  a 
sigh. 

"Do  you  feel  well  enough  to  go  on  to  Schwartzen- 
burg's  place,  Phil?"  abruptly  queried  Beauford,  as  he 
lit  a  cheroot  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

"Are  you  tired  of  me?  Do  you  wish  to  get  away?" 
said  Maitiand,  twisting  over  to  get  a  fair  look  at  the 
Englishman. 

"It's  not  that,  Phil,"  continued  Beauford  in  a  quick, 
constrained  voice.  "I  wish  to  see  you  comfortable  at 
Schwartzenburg.  I  may  have  to  run  over  to  London 
on  some  business,  and  return  by  Rome.  You  will  no: 


124  'II1E    ANARCHIST 

be  able  to  go  home  for  a  couple  of  months  at  any 
rate.  I  will  tell  you  all  when  I  return!  But  I  am 
forced  to  leave  you  there.  So,  if  you  will  arrange  your 
plans  with  Walton  and  Miss  Hartley,  we  can  leave 
tomorrow." 

"There  is  nothing  wrong — nothing  serious,  I  hope!" 
exclaimed  the  American.  His  intuition  told  him  of 
a  disaster  to  Beauford. 

"I  may  as  well  give  you  the  chance  to  shape  your 
future,  Phil,"  said  the  patrician,  taking  a  seat  at  his 
friend's  side.  "It  is  all  up  with  me!  Our  Asian 
trip  is  off  for  the  present.  A  sudden  culmination  of 
impending  troubles  will  leave  me  a  wanderer,  depend 
ent  on  my  own  efforts!" 

"Explain!"  demanded  the  astounded  listener.  Before 
Count  Oborski's  splendid  drag  with  its  lithe-limbed 
Hungarian  steeds  merrily  dashed  up,  Philip  Maitland 
knew  that  the  storm  had  broken  dark  and  menacing 
on  his  friend's  defenseless  head. 

"I  must  think!  I  must  find  a  way  to  help  you!" 
cried  Maitland,  in  the  gravest  concern.  "I  owe  my 
life  to  you,  to  your  manly  chivalry  in  staying  with 
me  to  the  last!  Is  there  no  relief  possible?" 

"None!"  gloomily  answered  Beauford,  "unless  I  find 
an  Aladdin's  lamp!  I  have  been  working  with  the 
solicitor's  agents  for  these  last  days.  "I  will  give  you 
the  particulars  later,  when  we  are  alone!"  The 
speaker  paused — for  Evelyn  Hartley's  musical  laughter 
came  ringing  up  the  stair.  A  new  pang  was  added  to 
his  sorrow  as  he  bitterly  thought,  "And  she  must 
know  that  I  am  soon  to  be  a  beggar!  The  one  woman 
I  ever — " 

He  caught  the  waiting  look  in  Maitland's  eyes  and 
hushed  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind. 


THE    ANARCHIST  12$ 

"And  your  plans,  if  the  worst  really  happens?" 
Maitland's  deep  voice  trembled  with  feeling. 

"I  may  try  sheep  raising  in  Australia  or  ranching 
in  your  wild  West!  To  linger  here,  'en  evidence,'  a 
ruined  English  peer  were  madness!" 

"Does  Evelyn  Hartley  know  of  this?"  persisted  the 
listener. 

"Not  a  word!"  replied  Beauford,  "but  I  fear  the 
proceedings,  which  are  public,  may  reach  her  mother! 
Of  course  Evelyn  would  know  at  once  then!"  Mait- 
land  bit  his  lip  as  he  noticed  how  naturally  the  friendly 
name  dropped  from  his  friend's  lips.  Ingratitude  of 
human  selfish  passion!  The  fever  convalescent  did 
not  think  of  the  dim  watches  of  the  anxious  nights 
when  Beauford  and  Evelyn  Hartley,  listening  to  his 
own  labored  breathing,  forgot  the  platitudes  of  the 
salon ! 

Hobson  (overjoyed  at  the  visit  of  congratulation) 
appeared  with  several  cards. 

Philip  Maitland  was  able  to  receive  Admiral  Wal 
ton,  Professor -Stein  and  the  romantic  noble,  whose 
dark  eyes  burned  as  he  gallantly  escorted  the  American 
heiress. 

On  palace  duty  for  one  week  as  Honorary  Equerry, 
Stanislas  Oborski  was  magnificent  in  the  bravery  of 
his  corps  of  the  service.  Graceful  and  animated,  he 
looked  the  fitting  descendant  of  the  proud  Polish  chiefs 
who  boasted  that  they  would  uphold  the  falling  heavens 
on  their  lance  points! 

When  the  buzz  of  congratulation  had  ceased,  Obor 
ski  cordially  remarked,  "I  hope  Schloss  Schwartzen- 
burg  will  set  you  up,  Mr.  Maitland.  The  prince  has 
one  of  the  show  places  of  Hungary.  You  will  only 
miss  one  graceful  charm  to  aid  your  recovery!"  !  i<- 


126  THE    ANARCHIST 

inclined  his  head  toward  Miss  Evelyn.     "But  you  will 
have  the  nightingales,  and—  memory  !" 

"You  are  romantic,  Count!"  measuredly  said  Beau- 
ford. 

"It  is  all  that  is  left  to  a  ruined  Pole!  To  be 
true  to  the  land  of  life  and  love,  of  song  and  poetry! 
The  land  wet  with  the  blood  of  heroes!  Ah!  You 
smile!  I  am  a  member  of  the  Austrian  Household !  I 
am  not  cast  for  Thaddeus  in  the  Bohemian  Girl!  I 
only  wait  to  hear  the  command  'Charge!'  and  ride 
down  on  the  Russian  butchers!  Listen!  I  have  treas 
ured  a  letter  from  my  grandfather  written,  in  his  own 
blood,  from  the  depths  of  a  Russian  prison!  The 
fairest  of  our  Polish  women  have  died  under  the 
knout!  I  am  a  man  without  a  country!  In  the  whole 
world  I  have  no  home!  There  is  one  word  which  to 
the  Pole  replaces  Liberty!  Life!  Love!  It  is  Ven 
geance!  My  romance  is  of  a  future  wherein  empires 
will  roll  away  as  blackened  scrolls!  When  the  blood 
of  the  tyrant  will  mingle  in  the  dark  stream  of  the 
victim's  gore!  When  you  are  ready  for  the  chase, 
after  I  have  shown  Miss  Hartley  the  lions  of  Vienna, 
I  may  run  over  and  see  you!  I  am  at  home  over 
there,  thanks  to  the  princely  bonhomie  of  Schwart- 
zenburg." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  slowly  answered  Maitland,  "I 
may  leave  for  America  as  soon  as  I  can  travel!" 

Carl  Stein  started!  His  panther  eyes  gleamed 
in  pleasure!  One  obstacle  removed!  Beauford  was 
frankly  amazed,  while  Evelyn-  Hartley  bent  her  serious 
eyes  on  Lord  Alfred. 

He  crimsoned,  for  in  the  girl's  frank  face  he  could 
read  her  thoughts. 

"Then  the  Tiber  will  viek]  a  fairer  game  than 


THE    ANARCHIST  127 

mere's  rose-scented  vales!     It  is    the    olden  charm  of 
Isabel!" 

"Have  you  given  up  Asia,  Lord  Alfred?"  Evelyn 
ventured. 

"I  may  change  my  plans  materially,"  replied  the 
Briton,  with  embarrassment. 

"Then  I'm  out  a  tiger  skin!"  genially  added  Walton. 
"I  say,  Beauford !  Try  a  Norway  cruise  with  me!" 

Carl  Stein  cut  the  gordian  knot  of  cross  purposes 
with  a  direct  question.  "And  Miss  Evelyn?" 

"Oh,  I  am  not  fond  of  yachting!  If  Mrs.  St.  Leger 
and  Lady  Dunham  can  be  persuaded  to  visit  Vienna, 
then  archaeology,  court  balls,  music,  some  German 
studies,  and  few  excursions  in  this  land  of  old  chivalry, 
will  busy  me!  I  am  promised  Professor  Stein's  kind 
assistance  in  my  studies!" 

"I  shall  be  too  happy  to  show  you  the  most  delight 
ful  society  of  modern  days.  Our  Court  at  least  is  not 
invaded  by  the  vulgar  crowd."  Oborski's  plumed 
shako  swept  the  floor  as  he  bowed  to  the  heiress. 

"Philip!"  murmured  Evelyn,  as  a  chance  offered, 
"you  must  see  me  before  you  go  home.  I  have  a 
special  charge  for  you.  I  have  some  very  important 
business  with  Judge  Fox.  You  alone  could  prudently 
see  him  on  my  behalf!" 

"Count  on  me  in  any  way!  I  promise,"  hastily 
answered  Maitland. 

"What  can  have  happened?"  mused  Maitland  as  the 
merry  party  drove  away.  He  did  not  know  of  the 
bitter  and  final  estrangement  of  mother  and  daughter 
—of  Stein's  artful  riveting  up  of  the  now  impassible 
barriers!  Rheingold  as  physician,  spy,  was  already, 
the  secret  jailer  of  the  hypochondriac  woman,  and 
with  suppressed  glee,  Stein  had  returned, stijl  s^ak-cl, 
ivn'-^  letters  to  her  mother 


128  THE    ANARCHIST 

"My  lawyers  and  my  physician  can  receive  any  nec 
essary  communication!"  was  her  cold  response. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Phil?"  said  Beauford,  his 
hand  laid  in  friendly  cordiality  on  Maitland's  shoulder. 

"I  am  going  to  become  something  better  than  a 
wanderer.  I  shall  stay  in  America.  Beauford,  if  you 
cannot  arrange  your  affairs,  I  have  a  home  there  open 
to  you!  Come  to  me!" 

Beauford  shook  his  handsome  head  in  dogged  reso 
lution.  "I  shall  seek  a  new  life  among  strangers!" 

As  he  walked  to  the  window  he  little  knew  that  the 
man  he  had  saved  from  the  fever's  deadly  grasp, 
designed  an  effort  to  save  Jervaux  Priory  from  a  sale 
under  the  decrees  of  law. 

"I  must  get  away  alone,  and  find  out  if  this  ruin 
can  not  be  averted!  There  must  be  a  way,  if  I  have 
to  impound  my  last  acre!"  Phil  Maitland  gazed  at 
his  friend  whose  face  bore  the  silent  seal  of  bitterness 
riving  his  heart  in  twain. 

"Shall  I  begin  to  pack,  sir,"  inquired  the  nimble 
Hobson. 

"Get  all  ready!  We  take  the  morning  train!"  said 
Beauford,  as  he  addressed  a  brief  letter  to  Isabel 
Dunham. 

"I  am  sorry  for  Lord  Beauford,"  artfully  broke  in 
Stein,  as  Admiral  Walton  grumbled  at  the  young 
man's  declination  of  the  yachting  tour.  "His  place 
was  one  of  the  finest  in  England." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Professor?"  asked  Evelyn 
Hartley,  as  Count  Oborski  guided  his  splendid  steeds 
up  to  the  entrance  of  the  Grand  Hotel. 

"Jervaux  Priory  and  the  estates  will  be  sold  under 
the  law  before  a  year,"  bluntly  answered  Stein.  "The 
Jate  joroVs  ambassadorial  splendor  has  ruined  Lord 


THE    ANARCHIST  I  29 

Alfred.     It  was  made  public  through    the  proceedings 
when  I  reached  Yorkshire." 

"Both  will  soon  be  out  of  the  way  !  The  road  is 
clear  for  Oborski!"  thought  Stein.  He  would  have 
lingered,  but  Evelyn  Hartley,  pale-faced,  and  with  a 
strange  light  in  her  eyes,  sought  her  room  and  was 
invisible  until  after  the  gentlemen  separated. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON  THE  BEAUTIFUL  BLUE  DANUBE! — MISS  HARTLEY'S  MONEY. 
THE   RED  PROPAGANDA 

'ALL  the  Americans  are  a  little  light-headed,  I 
fancy,"  commented  the  Chief  de  Bureau  of  the  Grand 
hotel  as  he  entered  up  a  charge  of  two  hundred  and 
thirty-six  crowns  for  a  cablegram  sent  by  Miss  Evelyn 
Hartley  to  Judge  Wilkinson  Fox  of  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

The  Viennese  clerk  had  personally  dispatched  sev 
eral  registered  letters,  and  it  was  now  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

"I  hope  the  great  heiress  will  remember  me!"  the 
drowsy  cashier  murmured.  "I  suppose  all  this  could 
wait!  A  week  would  bear  these  tidings  on  safely  but 
Love  rides  fast !  His  winged  courses  are  not  swift 
enough  for  the  wild  sweep  of  passionate  youth!" 

Late  as  the  hour  was,  Evelyn  Hartley  sat  in  silent 
commune  by  her  boudoir  fire  long  after  Count  Oborski 
and  Carl  Stein  had  touched  glasses  in  a  red  pledge  of 
their  dangerous  brotherhood. 

"I  must  have  a  friend!"  the  heiress  sadly  mused,  as 
she  sat  at  ease,  her  unbound  hair  sweeping  in  splen 
did  folds  over  her  shoulders.  "I  cannot  speak  to 
Beauford!  I  can  read  now  the  silent  agony  of  his  face. 
Besides,  he  would  think  me  unwomanly," — a  rosy 
flush  tinted  her  noble  face.  "Walton!  Is  there  a 
heart  under  the  polished  marble  of  his  social  exterior? 
Has  'good  form'  eaten  out  the  last  bit  of  friendliness 

IBO 


THE    ANARCHIST  13! 

lingering  in  his  nature?  He  lives  in  a  world  where 
the  gilded  chariot  crushes  those  who  are  overthrown 
by  fate.  It  is  a  mad  race  to  keep  in  the  course! 
Judge  Fox  is  too  distant!  Lady  Dunham!  Can  two 
women  work  together  to  avert  this  ruin?  And,  of  all 
women,  ourselves? 

"My  mother  must  not  know!  Stein  is  a  dangerous 
counselor.  He  is  my  mother's  ambassador  and  Rhein- 
gold's  friend.  Ah!  For  an  hour  of  my  father's  noble 
spirit  to  guide.  Philip!  Would  he  understand?  Can 
I  tell  him  all?  .And  yet  he  is  manly.  Beauford  saved 
his  life!  He  shall  do  my  bidding,  and  gratitude  as 
well  as  honor  will  seal  his  lips.  He  shall  report  to 
me  the  result  of  Lord  Beauford's  final  efforts,  disclose 
the  legal  snares,  and  he  must  find  me  a  way  to  save 
Jervaux.  Beauford  must  not  wander  away  to  unknown 
wilds  in  this  mental  torture!  I  must  use  Philip!  For 
if  he  were  to  return  to  America,  1  would  be  power 
less!" 

There  were  smiling  angels  guarding  Evelyn  Hartley's 
rest  that  night,  and  when  her  beautiful  dark  eyes 
opened  to  the  Hght  of  another  day,  Maitland  and  Beau- 
ford  were  speeding  away  to  the  castled  crags  of  Schloss 
Schwartzenburg,  and  the  breath  of  Transylvania's 
pines  swept,  balsam  laden,  in  freshening  incense  on 
the  fevered  brow  of  the  American. 

"What's  all  this  I  hear  from  Stein  about  Beau- 
ford's  trouble?  Has  he  spoken  to  you  of  it,  Evelyn?" 
cautiously  asked  Admiral  Walton,  laying  down  his 
GaJignani  and  contemplating  with  pride  the  stately 
beauty  of  his  niece  who  was  gracing  his  late  break 
fast. 

"It  seems  that  his  estates  are  endangered,  uncle," 
answered  the  girl,  busied  with  the  tea  service.  "Lord 


132  THE    ANARCHIST. 

Beauford    is    most    reserved    but    his    air   of    distress 
haunts  me!      He  has  not  referred  to  it." 

"It's  a  shame!"  bluntly  cried  the  sailor.  "Our  old 
England  is  daily  losing  the  noblest  features  of  its 
national  life!  Peerages  are  handed  over  to  the  eager 
upstarts,  old  country  families  disappearing  and  the 
union  of  blood  and  land  weakens  daily!  The  secret  of 
our  marvelous  hold  on  the  empire  of  the  modern 
world  has  been  the  distribution  in  the  service  of  church, 
crown,  and  state  of  men  representing  a  sound  aristoc 
racy.  In  the  army,  navy  and  foreign  service,  our 
best  blood  has  done  yeoman  service.  Beauford's  father 
was  a  case  in  point.  Mark  me,  Evelyn,  the  very  recog 
nition  of  these  higher  qualities  by  a  grateful  Crown 
has  united  them. 

"England's  ignoble  days  will  come  with  the  rule  of 
mere  money."  The  veteran  waxed  wroth.  "Men  who 
are  the  architects  of  their  own  fortunes  dare  not  risk, 
will  not  pour  out  the  golden  hoards  they  have  scraped 
together!  A  higher  patriotism*  a  broader  culture, 
nobler  thoughts,  and  a  distinctive  moral  elevation 
clings  around  a  sound  aristocracy.  Your  anarchists 
and  socialists  will  never  drag  down  the  institutions 
of  England  while  the  gentry  are  loyal  to  the  Consti 
tution." 

"And  what  say  you  of  the  United  States,  uncle?" 
the  girl  calmly  queried. 

"The  nobler  days  of  your  Republic  were  its  tiires 
of  storm  and  stress,  its  early  struggles,  your  Revolu 
tionary  War  brought  out  Washington,  Hamilton,  Jeffer 
son,  Jay,  Adams!  Your  period  of  southern  and 
western  development — Clay,  Benton,  Sam  Houston, 
Andrew  Jackson,  Fremont !  Your  geat  Civil  War 
showed  in  its  lurid  light  greant  characters — Grant,  Lee, 


THfc    ANARCHIST  133 

Sherman,  Joe  Johnston,  Sheridan,  Stonewall  Jackson! 
Your  struggles  evolved  Sumner,Calhoun,  Webster,  Alex 
ander  Stephens!  Your  statesmen,  soldiers,  thinkers, 
are  all  men  of  emergency!  It  is  your  foul  battening 
days  of  the  dollar  rule  which  create  your  monopolists, 
your  land-sharks,  your  brutally  vulgar  money-kin  $s. 
Any  measure  of  social  recognition  or  continued  suc 
cess  is  impossible  in  an  aristocratic  government,  for 
your  Fisks,  Goulds,  your  mere  money  sharks  of  every 
class.  Thank  God!  all  is  not  for  sale  in  England 
yet!  I  am  an  old  man,  Evelyn!"  cried  the  admiral. 
"You  may  see  a  terrific  struggle  of  anarchy  in  the 
United  States!  There  is  a  desperate  personal  envy  in 
the  hatred  of  your  toilers  for  these  swollen  money 
monsters,  thrust  forward  out  of  the  common  herd  by 
robbery ! 

"Beware  lest  the  rapidly  foreignized  mass  of  Ameri 
can  voters  becomes  fretful  and  thrusts  into  its  elective 
place,  men  representing  socialism  !  Your  native  citi 
zens  have  been  singularly  good  humored  and  patient! 
I  can  see  the  signs  of  imminent  danger  in  America!" 

"In  what?"  calmly  replied  the  startled  heiress. 

"In  the  absolute  inability  of  this  heaped  up  wealth, 
ground  out  of  your  poor,  to  protect  itself !  In  the 
helplessness  of  your  land  sharks,  syndicate  swindlers, 
trust  bandits,  and  monopolists  to  guard  their  giant 
accumulations!  You  have  a  trifling  standing  army,  an 
ill-assorted  National  Guard!  Some  day,these  franchises, 
monopolies  and  trumped  up  titles  will  be  swept  into  the 
common  coffers — the  vulgar  state  palaces  of  your  fan 
tastic  money  barons  will  go  up  in  flames!  Why,  your 
best  people  seek  Europe  now  for  ease,  quiet, study, refine 
ment  and  safety!  The  mad  race  of  social  vulgarity  in 
display  must  end  in  the  'States!'"  growled  the  admiral. 


134  IHE   ANAkcMlST 

As  he  affixed  his  monocle,  he  growled:  "I'm  really 
told  there  is  no  such  legal  status  as  'gentle 
man*  in  America!  Remember  what  a  gifted  despot 
said:  'Equality  is  a  monster!  It  fain  would  be  king!"' 

"You  are  mistaken,  uncle,"  firmly  said  Evelyn. 
"We  have  unrestricted  political  movement,  a  free 
press — an  ideal  Constitution!" 

"Bah!"  answered  Walton.  "Some  positive  affront 
to  Labor,  the  result  of  Asiatic  immigration,  European 
importation,  or  the  last  screw  of  the  labor  tyrants 
will  wrap  the  land  in  flame.  Look  at  your  miniature 
war  in  Homestead  in  your  iron  regions.  It  burned 
itself  out!  Some  graver  issue  will  call  your  alert, 
fearless,  excitable,  people  into  a  tumult,  whereupon 
sectional  division  and  the  evolution  of  great  and  crafty 
leaders  will  break  up  your  Republic  into  petty  frag 
ments.  I  tell  you  modern  organized  manufacturing 
debases  a  high-souled  people!  The  old  craftsmen 
were  artists.  Your  wage  workers  are  helots!  There 
is  more  difference  in  caste  to-day  between  employer 
and  operative  in  America  than  divides  Brahmin  and 
Pariah  in  India.  The  absurd  antics  of  your  socially 
prominent  women,  mostly  thrust  up  by  prosperity 
from  the  working  class,  fosters  this  growing  hatred. 
As  for  your  organic  chartered  liberties,  the  same  great- 
souled  woman  despot  I  quoted,  remarked:  'The  best 
of  possible  constitutions  is  worth  nothing  when  it 
makes  more  people  unhappy  than  happy — when  brave 
and  honest  folk  have  to  drudge,  and  only  the  rogues 
are  in  clover,  because  their  pockets  are  filled  and  no 
body  punishes  them!' 

"There  you  have  your  American  situation  of  to-day 
in  the  words  of  the  great  Catherine.  It  will  be  a 
sweeping  labor  revolt,  loosening  class  jealousy  and 


THE    ANARCHIST  135 

turning  foreign  communists  loose  to  plunder  the 
community  which  will  bring  up  a  sharp  and  bloody 
revolution  in  your  land.  I  look  at  home  with,  pride 
and  confidence  to  our  conservatism  in  church, 
state,  home  life,  and  graded  society.  Admiring  your 
rapid — even  feverish  development,  I  can  see  liberalism 
in  religion  go  on  through  indifference  and  materialism 
to  agnosticism.  Your  welcome  to  the  immigrant 
debauches  your  lands  and  fills  it  with  Europe's 
reiuse,  making  American  citizenship  valueless.  Your 
outcast  tramps'  vote  helps  to  govern  your  millions  of 
unrepresented  mothers  and  wives!  You  have  carved 
liberal  principles  into  license.  The  German  grinding- 
mills  have  filled  your  land  with  glib  agitators  who 
bite  as  well  as  bark!  You  have  no  superior  classes  to 
protect  you,  to  stem  this  tide.  You  are  all  grubbing 
lor  money  together.  The  man  who  owns  a  rolling- 
mill  works  as  hard  in  the  office  as  the  slave  who 
bundles  scrap  in  the  sheds. 

'The  only  difference  is  that  he  is  at  the  right  end 
of  the  mill!  His  wife  wears  huge  diamonds  and 
perhaps  has  a  traveling  court  of  adventurers  in 
Europe,  while  he  grinds  his  own  life  at  home  into 
the  mill  with  the  blood  and  bones  of  his  'fellow- 
citizens!" 

Walton  ceased  with  a  sneer  at  the  Republic  where 
the  hard  Almighty  Dollar  is  God!  "Perhaps  you  are 
right!  I  quote  again,  'The  rich  have  an  astonishing 
power  over  humankind,  since  kings  themselves  end  by 
respecting  those  who  have  made  money!" 

'  You  spoke  of  our  women  denied  the  vote,  Admiral. 
Look  at  your  own  land!"  hotly  remarked  Evelyn. 

"The  case  is  different.  The  interests  of  our  women 
are  voted  on  and  practically  guarded  by  a  select  class 


136  THE  ANARCHIST 

of  the  nation  who  have  something  at  stake!  In  your 
large  American  cities,  the  rabble  certainly  rules!" 

"Are  honor  and  worth  really  needful?  and  if  so, 
surely  one  should  not  restrain  the  desire  of  emulation 
and  clog  it  with  an  insupportable  enemy — equality? 

"In  your  land,  Evelyn,  no  position  is  permanent! 
You  know  too  well  why!  In  your  shifting  social  scale 
a  line  of  Beauford's  of  five-hundred-years'  destinction 
in  their  country's  service  is  impossible.  You  produce 
Denis  Kearneys,  Tammany  coteries,  carpet-bag  govern 
ments!" 

The  old  man  sighed  as  he  prepared  for  his  constitu 
tional  "Would  to  God  I  could  help  Beatiford!  But 
eighty  thousand  pounds  is  not  hanging  on  every  bush." 

"Is  that  the  sum  needed  to  save  Jervaux  Priory  and 
the  estates?"  said  Miss  Hartley. 

Walton  lit  his  cheroot  at  the  door.  "So  I  am  told," 
he  said.  ''And  it  is  a  shame!  Half  the  rent  roll  saved 
and  laid  away  would  free  the  estate  in  twenty  years. 
It  is  as  safe  as  a  life  assurance." 

"What  is  the  occupation  of  a  penniless  peer?  What 
is  his  future?"  said  Evelyn  hastily. 

"God  bless  my  soul!  I  never  thought  of  that!  Poor 
Alfred!"  cried  the  admiral  as  he  sought  refuge  in 
flight. 

While  the  gay  world  of  Vienna  wondered  at  the 
impressive  beauty  of  the  already  famous  American  heir 
ess,  as  she  sat  in  her  box  at  the  opera  that  night,  even 
Stanislas  Oborski's  brilliant  word-play  palled  on  her 
ear.  She  was  dreaming  of  the  methods  by  which 
David  Hartley's  Trust  could  be  handled  to  realize  a 
certain  large  sum  ot  money.  "I  am  sure  that  Judge 
Fox  could  find  a  way  if  I  could  see  him.  He  has 
insisted  on  some  foreign  investments."  And  the  bean- 


THE  ANARCHIST  137 

tifui  dark  eyes  grew  very  serious  as  the  music  swelled 
and  wailed  in  its  melodious  intensity. 

Forgetting  the  mimic  agony  of  the  lovers  on  the 
stage,  she  wandered  in  mind  to  the  doomed  oaks  of 
the  ruined  peer's  stately  home.  It  was  her  money 
which  engrossed  her  thoughts.  Beside  her,  his  roman 
tic  eyes  filled  with  speaking  light,  the  impassioned 
Polish  noble  keenly  watched  her,  and  plotted  for  the 
golden  prize.  In  the  rear  of  the  loge,  calm,  his  steady 
eyes  watching  the  human  pageant  unrolled  before  him, 
Carl  Stein,  the  canker  of  burning  hatred  of  society  in 
his  heart,  dreamed  over  his  terrific  creeds  of  general 
rapine  and  stealthily  conjured  up  future  meshes  to 
ensnare  Miss  Hartley's  money. 

Admiral  Walton's  aristocratic  exterior  and  glittering 
orders  caught  the  merry  eyes  of  Vienna's  laughter-lov 
ing,  intrigante,  feminine  free-lances!  He  dreamed  of 
golden  fires  of  love  relit !  Ashes  of  the  past,dead  embers 
of  time  fanned  into  a  last  flickering  (lame! 

Miss  Hartley's  resolute  face  was  bowed  over  her 
dispatch  box  for  an  hour  while  her  cavalier  finished 
the  wee  small  hours  over  wine  and  Strauss  waltzes  in 
the  court  far  below  her. 

The  morning  sun  glittering  over  the  firs  and  crested 
pines  of  the  Transylvanian  hills,  a  week  later  gleamed 
on  Beauford's  pale  face  as  he  walked  down  the  great 
avenue  of  lindens  with  Maitland.  "You  are  all  right 
here,  Phil,"  he  thoughtfully  said.  "Forester  Franz 
and  Steward  Obermeyer  will  make  a  Yager  of  you  in  a 
fortnight.  I  will  be  back  then.  I  must  go  over  to 
London  and  as  Isabel  Dunham  will  be  at  Vienna  on 
my  return,  I  can  finish  my  adieux.  Miss  Hartley 
writes  me  the  ladies  will  join  her  before  my  return." 

Mainland's*  cheek    was    redder    than    the    returning 


t^B  THK   ANARCHIST 

flush  of  health,  the  kindly  gift  of  the  pine  forest  air, 
when  he  said  simply,  as  the  wagonette  drove  up,  "Can 
I  be  of  any  service  to  you,  Alfred?  Even  temporarily?" 
He  dared  not  frame  his  offer  in  more  explicit  terms. 

Beauford's  lip  trembled.  "You  are  a  good  old  boy, 
Phil.  You  can  help  me!  Keep  on  gaining  as  you 
have!  When  I  come  back,  you  can  run  down  to  Trieste, 
perhaps,  and  see  me  off — for  I  shall  not  linger  within 
gossip  earshot  of  my  ruin  bruited  abroad,  or  lag  super 
fluous'  on  the  social  theatre  of  giddy  Vienna!" 

"Have  you  settled  whither  you  will  go?"  earnestly 
questioned  the  tall  American. 

'It  don't  matter  much  as  long  as  it  is  a  fair  spread 
of  longitude.  Any  far  corner — or  in  fact,  the  longest 
voyage  will  do!  Probably  the  travel  will  be  the  great 
est  element  of  an  effacement  of  the  past.  It  matters 
little  where  my  feet  wander!  I  only  know  they  will 
not  turn  back  to  old  England!" 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  Beauford  was  gone!  Mait- 
land,  wandering  slowly  back  to  the  Schloss,  seated 
himself  under  a  giant  spreading  elm.  A  rustic  seat 
under  its  friendly  shade  had  sheltered  happy  lovers 
from  olden  time.  The  solitary  man  read  and  read 
again  a  letter  clearly  inscribed  in  Evelyn  Hartley's 
frank,  firm  hand.  Its  closing  lines  arrested  his  atten 
tion,  and  he  pondered  sadly  as  he  folded  the  closely 
filled  sheets. 

MYou  must  find  out  for  me  the  details,  every  cir 
cumstance  of  this  entanglement.  I  rely  on  you!" 

"Brave,  beautiful,  kindly  Evelyn!"  mused  Philip 
Maitland.  "May  you  never  know  the  sacred  isolation 
of  a  broken  heart!  Beauford's  pride  will  buoy  him 
up  to  the  very  death!  I  can  not  break  in  upon  his 
manly  grief." 


As  he  threw  down  his  pen,  vainly  striving  to  write 
a  fitting  response,  an  hour  later,  in  his  great  vaulted 
chamber  at  the  Schloss,  he  paced  the  room,  and  paused 
at  the  open  casement.  The  splendid  panorama  thrilled 
his  romantic  soul. 

"Schwartzenburg's  very  heart  life  is  wrapped  up  in 
this  grand  old  domain  they  say!  I  know  how  heavy 
Alfred  Beauford's  heart  will  be  as  he  turns  his  back 
on  beautiful  Jervaux!  I  would  give  five  years  of  my 
life  if  I  had  Evelyn  Hartley's  money!" 

While  Maitland's  eyes  were  bright  and  his  sinews 
nerved  themselves  to  their  wonted  elasticity  in  the 
pictured  hill  of  the  Austrian's  princely  domain,  Miss 
Hartley  was  secretly  happy  at  Vienna.  Her  first  great 
victory  of  womanly  art  thrilled  her  with  happy  augu 
ries  of  the  future. 

Admiral  Horatio  Walton,  in  company  with  Lord 
Alfred  Beauford,  was  the  secret  agent  of  a  sudden 
commission  of  the  extremest  importance  in  London 
The  old  "viveur"  was  not  loth  to  spend  a  week  in 
England  and  privately  determined  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Beauford  and  fathom  the  depths  of  his  troubles. 

"Shall  you  go  down  to  Yorkshire,  Walton?"  said 
the  careworn  young  noble. 

"Most  likely,'1  answered  the  admiral  with    cautio  n. 

"I'm  heartily  glad,  as  you  can  relieve  me  of  one  awk 
wardness.  My  visit  might  otherwise  annoy  Mrs.  Hart 
ley,  I  hope  you  will  go  with  me!" 

"Certainly!"  cried  the  overjoyed  sailor,  who  secretly 
fancied  he  might  bear  back  to  the  blue  Danube  the 
olive-branch  of  peace. 

There  was  a  singular  reserve  of  quiet  expectancy 
hanging  over  Lady  Isabel  Dunham  and  Evelyn  Hart 
ley  as  they  leisurely  enjoyed  the  continued  attentions 


140  TMk  A  NAkc'ii  is  r 

of  Count  Oborski  and  the  all-accomplished  Stein,  The 
American  girl's  heart  was  beating  in  anxiety  to  hear  the 
response  of  Judge  Wilkinson  Fox  to  the  dispatches 
now  grown  vitally  important  to  her.  As  yet  she  had 
not  given  her  heart's  confidence  to  her  gentle  com 
panion.  Alfred  Beauford's  name  was  avoided,  with 
a  tacit  reserve.  The  lovely  Englishwoman,  alone  at 
night,  gazing  on  the  sparkling  stars  murmured  to  her 
own  heart,  "Next  week !  He  comes !  But  only  to 
part.  It  may  be  forever!" 

"Can  it  be  that  Evelyn  Hartley  is  engaged?"  mused 
the  fairest  of  Anglo-Indian  widows  as  she  observed  the 
American  girl's  feverish  unrest  on  the  arrival  of  the 
through  post.  Isabel  Dunham  had  not  caught  up  fast 
Indian  mannerisms.  The  daughter  of  the  Ventnors 
was  above  the  contamination  of  garrison  manners. 
General  Dunham's  pride  in  Lady  Isabel's  faultless 
social  bearing  gladdened  the  haughty  veteran  to  the 
last. 

"If  I  could  read  her  thoughts,"  the  beautiful  widow 
pondered,  "I  might  tell  whether  Alfred  Beauford's  love 
may  yet  be  mine!"  Drawing  from  her  breast  a  golden 
heart-shaped  case,  she  gazed  fixedly  at  a  face  pictured 
therein.  "It  is  never  too  late  for  love,  Alfred!  If 
you  knew  the  past,  even  now  in  sorrow  and  trouble 
the  star  of  love  might  light  us  to  a  home  in  the  happy 
New  World,  beyond  the  blue  ocean's  faintly  drawn 
horizon!  Does  she  love  him!  Her  American  corres 
pondence  must  hold  the  key!" 

Closing  the  case  with  haste,  Lady  Isabel  threw  her 
self  in  a  velvet  cushioned  chair,  as  the  Chef  de  Bureau 
entered  the  grand  salon.  It  was  a  sunshiny  morning, 
a  week  after  Lady  Isabel's  arrival,  when  the  cashier 
himself  sought  Miss  Hartley  with  a  handful  of  impor 
tant  letters. 


THE   ANARCHIST  14! 

"Permit  me,"  he  bowed,  as  the  graceful  American 
swept  into  the  salon,  arrayed  for  a  drive.  It  was  a 
famous  expedition  arranged  by  the  courtly  Oborski. 
Stein,  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  whose  easy  Indian  indolence 
rebelled  against  too  much  sight-seeing,  that  keen  critic 
Stein  and  the  dissimilar,  but  not  yet  rival,  beauties. 

"If  mademoiselle  will  kindly  sign  the  receipts. "- 
the  polite  cashier  delivered  several  registered  letters. 
As  the  heiress  signed  the  receipts,  Mrs.  St.  Leger, 
fair  and  forty-four,  faded  and  rusce,  swept  in,  arrayed 
in  war-paint  of  skillful  make-up.  A  deliberate  social 
campaigner  she  always  "came  on  the  ground"  up  to 
every  requirement  of  the  code.  Oborski,  brilliant  and 
with  a  dash  of  the  barbaric  romance  of  the  Slavic  noble 
in  his  air,  entered,  followed  by  the  alert  and  self- 
possessed  Professor  Stein.  The  polished  scholar,  never 
flurried,  he  moved  on  his  orbit  without  haste  or  rest. 
His  keen  eye,  ever  calculating  personal  horoscopes, 
caught  the  expression  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  face.  It  was 
shaded  by  an  intense  anxiety.  "If  I  could  get  a  glance 
at  those  letters,"  he  thought.  His  mental  flashlight 
was  only  quick  enough  to  note  the  Cleveland  stamp 
on  a  heavy  envelope,  and  the  London  appearance  of 
several  documents  bearing  the  ear-marks  of  the  stilted 
law  scriveners. 

"I  deeply  regret,"  said  Miss  Hartley,  raising  her 
deep,  frank,  dark  eyes  to  Stein's  face  as  if  he  alone 
were  the  ruling  intellect,  "that  the  most  important 
business  dispatches  will  claim  my  attention  for  the 
day.  If  Count  Oborski  can  understand  what  a  depri 
vation  it  is,  I  will  be  pitied,  and  shall  I  say — for 
given  for  my  desertion!" 

The  wild  Hungarian  steeds  were  champing  their  sil 
ver  bits  beneath  the  open  windows,  and  the  grooms 


142  THE   ANARCHIST 

were  significantly  loud  in  their  attempts  to  restrain 
them. 

"1  will  pay  the  fine  of  my  disobedience.  If  Mrs. 
St.  Leger  will  kindly  preside,  shall  I  learn  of  your 
adventures  at  dinner  if  you  will  be  my  guests?"  While 
the  social  element  graciously  acquiesced,  bowing  to  the 
stroke  of  Fate,  Stein  mused,  "Her  mother's  ultimatum, 
I  suppose,  through  the  lawyers!  And  I  presume,  her 
first  annual  statement.  I  must  try  and  reach  her  cor 
respondence!" 

The  smiling  anarchist  was  grave  under  his  mask 
of  merriment  all  day,  as  he  displayed  his  cultured 
erudition,  in  guiding  the  less  aesthetic  pleasure  seek 
ers.  "If  it  were  a  private  apartment,  a  palace  even, 
I  might  reach  it;  but  in  this  public,  well-organized 
hotel,  it  would  not  do!  My  bribe  would  be  so  high, 
it  might  ruin  me  by  attracting  the  attention  of  the 
secret  police!" 

Miss  Hartley,  in  her  boudoir,  sat  down  with  a  beat 
ing  heart,  as  the  break  rolled  away,  to  study  the  problem 
of  a  secret  coup  of  magnitude. 

Her  doors  were  locked.  Her  maid  was  sent  away 
on  an  errand  of  some  hours. 

"I  must  think,  plan,  act  alone!  and  no  one  shall 
know  but — Philip  1  I  can  surely  trust  the  friend  of 
my  childhood." 

In  an  hour  the  ardent  girl  completed  her  Portia- 
like  studies.  The  chaff  of  her  correspondence  was 
laid  aside  in  the  traveling  dispatch-case,  hideous  with 
Chubb's  locks.  Two  documents  occupied  her  in  their 
study  for  a  silent  hour.  "Dear  old  friend!"  she 
murmured,  as  she  read  for  the  last  time  the  explicit 
answers  and  professional  utterances  of  Judge  Wilkin 
son  Fox,  "How  noble,  how  prompt,  how  delightful,  It 


THE   ANARCHIST  143 

will  conceal  my  identity,  and  if  Philip  will  serve  me, 
I  can  act  without  discovery."  With  her  Baedeker's 
map  spread  out,  the  heiress  studied,  pencil  in  hand, 
and  blushed  rosy  red  in  the  knowledge  of  her  own 
secret. 

"Yes!"  she  cried,  with  decision,  "Munich  is  the 
nearest  place  of  safety.  All  the  others  will  be  under 
my  eye  here.  I  must  now  send  my  telegrams  and  some 
money.  It  all  depends  on  Philip's  willingness  to  serve 
me!  He  can  not  refuse!  Who  ever  knew  a  loyal 
American  gentleman  to  abandon  a  country-woman's 
cause  in  a  strange  land?  No!  He  would  never  think 
of  a  denial!  He  is  his  father's  son  and  I  am  my  fath 
er's  daughter!" 

She  was  surely  the  embodiment  of  David  Hartley's 
mental  energy,  as  five  minutes  later  she  left  her  hotel, 
in  simple  costume,  and  nestling  in  the  comfortable 
shadows  of  a  quiet  coupe. 

Arrived  at  her  bankers,  Miss  Evelyn  Hartley  was  so 
business-like  as  to  astonish  the  staid  gray-haired  man 
ager.  "I  suppose  this  is  a  mere  bagatelle  to  the  great 
heiress!  How  rich  these  Americans  must  be!"  he 
said  as  he  received  her  checks. 

"I  am  to  telegraph  this  two  hundred  pounds  at  once, 
in  the  name  of  our  bank  to  its*  London  address.  Cer 
tainly.  It  will  be  available  there  early  to-morrow. 
And  the  incognito  of  Mademoiselle  is  a  matter  of 
honor!  The  Kaiser,  even,  trusts  our  house!"  he  proudly 
remarked,  with  his  hand  on' his  breast,  "and  the  other 
money,  in  Bank  of  England  notes,  and  French  gold. 
Five  hundred  pounds!  I  shall  send  it  to  the  hotel  by 
a  special  messenger  in  an  hour." 

The  startled  clerks  rubbed  their  eyes  as  their  chief 
escorted  the  daughter  of  the  West  to  her  Carriage- 


144  THE  ANARCHIST 

There  was  the  sparkle  of  buoyant  hope  in    her  speak 
ing  eyes. 

"To  the  Telegraph  Bureau,"  she  ordered,  and  her 
heart  beat  gayly  as  her  slender  fingers  traced  the  lines 
of  three  short  messages.  The  nimble  keys  were  click 
ing  before  the  handsome  stranger  closed  her  purse. 
Magic  of  money!  Delightful  and  concrete  power!  The 
eternal  charm  and  witchery  of  gold!  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  Evelyn  Hartley,  as  her  stately  head 
rested  at  ease,  felt  the  haughty  impulse  of  wealth  mov 
ing  her  every  pulse-throb! 

Her  dead  father,  a  general  whose  legions  were  em 
battled  gold  battalions,  lived  again  in  the  flash  of  her 
dark  eye. 

"Thanks  to  my  ready  gold!  I  can  hide  my  hand 
until  I  know  if  I  can  save  Jervaux,  that  grand  old 
manorial  estate!" 

With  a  few  turns  in  the  Prater,  Miss  Hartley  was 
able  to  face  the  curious  crowd  of  refined  loiterers  who 
watched  every  movement  of  the  great  American  heir 
ess. 

The  innocent  schemer  clapped  her  hands  in  delight 
as  she  regained  the  friendly  shelter  of  her  rooms.  All 
breathed  of  friendly  rest  and  silence.  Even  the  maid 
had  not  returned. 

"I  must  keep  a  record  of  this  little  campaign,"  the 
happy  woman  murmured  as  she  drew  her  journal 
with  its  mysterious  locks  from  her  dispatch-box. 
Leaning  her  fair  cheek  upon  a  rosy  hand,  she  blushed 
as  she  transcribed  her  messages.  "I  must  destroy 
these  slips!  How  fortunate  I  learned  something  as 
dear  father's  volunteer  secretary!  Whom  have  I  in 
the  world  to  trust?"  The  lonely  beauty's  heart  lingered 
fondly  over  the  memory  of  the  ardent  man  now  lying 


THE    ANARCHIST  145 

under  the  great  marble  pillar  by  blue  Lake  Erie's  dis 
tant  shores. 

"He  was  a  man  of  men!"  the  orphaned  girl  cried, 
as  she  kissed  his  picture.  She  read  encouragement 
in  the  kindly  eyes  now  fixed  forever.  "Here  is  the 
record  'safe,'  "  Evelyn  said  as  she  relocked  her  dispatch- 
box. 

Carl  Stein  would  have  bounded  in  rage,  cool  as  he 
was,  had  he  read  the  messages  which  were  to  draw 
into  action  the  Hartley  millions  to  keep  Lord  Beauford 
in  his  ancestral  rights.  The  words  to  the  solicitors 
were  simple.  :'How  fortunate  I  gained  that  from 
uncle!"  thought  Miss  Hartley.  Before  the  London 
fog  of  another  day  was  choking  peer  and  street-sweeper- 
with  impartial  grip,  Beauford's  astonished  solicitor  read 
the  following  lines. 

Two  hundred  pounds  remitted  to  send  your  agent  to 
Munich.  Meet  X.  Y.  Z.  at  Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons.  Full 
credentials  from  me  there.  Act  immediately. 

"I  think  my  plan  a  good  one!"  mused  the  novice 
at  intrigue,  as  she  arrayed  herself  to  receive  her  guests. 

"If  this  Mr.  Edgar  Alton  is  trusted  with  Judge 
Fox's  enormous  London  financial  dealings,  he  can 
surely  aid  me,  and  shield  my  name." 

Before  Evelyn  Hartley's  dinner  guests  had  separated, 
Edgar  Alton,  in  his  London  chambers,  was  as  startled 
as  lonely  Philip  Maitland  under  the  Schwartzenburg 
lindens. 

Come  to  Munich.  Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons.  Meet  my 
agent,  Philip  Maitland,  who  will  have  the  Judge's  letters  to 
me,  and  also  my  instructions,  confidential.  Preserve  absolute 
secrecy.  Answer, 


146  THE    ANARCHIST 

"I  suppose  I  must  go!"  reflected  the  keen-eyed 
American  financier.  "Sharp  old  boy,  Fox.  Always 
looks  ahead.  He  gave  her  this  cipher  for  just  such 
turns.  I'm  glad  to  meet  Phil  Maitland  again.  But 
how  the  deuce  is  he  mixed  up  in  this  deal?"  With 
national  promptness.  Alton  dashed  off  his  answer. 

Take  tidal  train.  Arrive  to-morrow  night.  Will  observe 
strict  silence. 

"There  is  some  reason  for  that  girl's  high  spirits!" 
crafty  Stein  decided  as  he  observed  the  joyous  exalta 
tion  with  which  Evelyn  Hartley  queened  it  over  her 
table.  It  had  been  a  day  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  Lady 
Dunham,  with  quick  wit,  noted  the  chivalric  empress- 
ement  of  Stanislas  Oborski's  courtesies  as  he  tenderly 
gazed  at  the  heiress. 

Evelyn  Hartley's  frank  cordiality  did  not  deceive 
the  wary  Stein,  though  the  Vienese  noble  was  secretly 
triumphant.  "She  is  thinking  of  someone  else!  I 
must  get  that  Englishman  out  of  the  way!" 

"When  does  Lord  Beauford  return?"  Stein  asked  in 
a  pause  of  the  merriment. 

Evelyn  Hartley's  face  glowed  with  a  tell-tale  blush 
as  she  said  :  "My  uncle  will  be  here  in  a  week.  I  have 
not  heard  from  Lord  Beauford." 

A  lightning  flash  from  Isabel  Dunham's  eyes 
searched  the  face  of  the  fair  American.  "She  speaks 
the  truth!"  the  happy  widow  felt.  Her  heart  beat  in 
thankful  relief.  Carl  Stein,  deceived  by  his  suspi 
cions,  noted  her  blush.  "It  is  the  nobleman!  He  must 
be  tricked  away!"  was  his  mental  judgment. 

But  Philip  Maitland  was  already  snugly  ensconced 
in  the  Vienna  night  train.  "It  must  be  something 
very  important.  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong  at 


THE    ANARCHIST  147 

Cleveland.  Well,  thank  heaven,  I  am  on  the  mend 
now !  Can  it  be  that  sleek  social  tabby-cat,  her  mother?" 
— These  cogitations  interested  Maitland,  as  his  head 
pillowed  on  his  rug,  he  smoked  at  ease  and  watched 
the  forest  branches  waving  in  the  blue  night  as  the 
train  dashed  along.  He  read  her  words  again.  "Come 
at  once.  You  must  go  to  Munich  for  me  on  a  private 
matter.  It  will  take  a  week.  No  one  must  know.  A 
carriage  will  wait  for  you  at  noon  to-morrow  at  the 
Votiv-Kirche. "  The  simple  signature  "Evelyn"  was  a 
word  of  command  to  him. 

"I  suppose  she  does  not  care  to  be  watched!  Who 
is  annoying  her?  Not  Beauford  or  her  uncle;  they 
are  in  London  !  Can  it  be  that  cool  fellow  Stein  or 
this  magnificent  wooer  Oborski?  I  suppose  half  the 
Viennese  jeunesse  dor6e  are  watching  the  rich  stran 
ger  now.  I'll  go  to  the  'Schwartzen  Adler'  on  the 
Ringstrasse  and  keep  dark  Evelyn  evidently  wishes 
to  tell  me  her  own  story.  I  will  treat  her  as  a  sister. " 

Yet  as  the  handsome  young  American  in  yager  cos 
tume  dreamily  thought  of  the  woman  whose  trust  was 
so  frankly  placed  in  his  loyal  honor,  there  was  a  flut 
ter  at  his  heart  not  indicative  of  calm,  brotherly  affec 
tion.  I 

"By  Jove!  I  hope  she  has  not  promised  herself  to 
that  romantic  figure  Oborski.  True,  he  is  highly 
placed  at  Court,  and  blue  blood  only  flows  in  his  veins; 
but  all  the  Polish  nobles  I  ever  met  were  at  the  last 
only  reckless  dreamers,  fantastic  scallawags!  David 
Hartley's  daughter  mates  with  no  such  adventurer 
if  I  can  help  it!  As  for  Beauford — the  case  is  differ 
ent!" 

And  yet,  as  his  eyes  closed  the  American  was  not 
enraptured  with  the  idea  of  an  English  marriage  for 


THE    ANARCHIST 

the  Cleveland  heiress!  There  was  no  enthusiasm  in 
his  contemplation  of  that  possible  important  social 
event! 

Miss  Hartley  was  satisfied  with  her  day's  work  as 
her  guests  separated  for  the  night.  Stanislas  Oborski, 
minister  of  pleasures,  was  fain  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
announcement  of  Miss  Evelyn's  private  preoccupation 
for  several  days.  "You  will  not  miss  me  for  Lady 
Dunham  is  an  enthusiast  already  on  Vienna."  Pro 
fessor  Carl  Stein  had  already  developed  a  singular 
penchant  for  the  society  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger.  "This 
duenna  will  surely  share  the  beautiful  Isabel  Dun 
ham's  secrets.  I  fancy  Lady  Isabel  will  watch  Lord 
Beauford  closely.  From  a  woman's  watchful  jealousy 
I  may  find  means  to  lime  my  bird  to  the  twig!  The 
American  heiress  stands  in  Lady  Isabel's  path.  To 
carry  out  my  role  of  Mephisto  I  must  indeed  master 
this  blooming  military  Martha  before  I  can  lead  the 
helpless  Marguerite  of  my  passion  play  up  to  the  love 
mirror  where  Oborski's  face  will  be  burned  into  her 
heart!" 

The  polished  erudition  and  unfailing  courtesy  of 
Professor  Stein  had  in  fact,  swept  Madame  St.  Leger 
from  her  feet.  She  was  only  accustomed  to  the  banal 
pottering  of  Anglo-Indian  miltary  dawdlers.  She  was 
as  wax  in  the  hands  of  the  vigorous  and  all  accom 
plished  Stein. 

While  the  two  men  walked  homeward  through  the 
streets  still  filled  with  revelers,  under  a  deserted 
arcade,  Oborski  whispered  to  Stein:  "I  had  a  summons 
from  Davidoff  to  an  extraordinary  council  here  as  soon 
as  five  of  the  Grand  Executive  can  be  gathered." 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Stein  coolly.  "I  have  seen  the 
chief!" 


THE   ANARCHIST  149 

Oborski  started.  "Then,  Stein  was  his  superior  in 
the  red  propaganda!" 

He  gazed  anxiously  around.  They  were  now  safe 
from  eavesdroppers.  "What  is  the  object?"  he 
humbly  queried.  Stein  faced  Oborski  in  the  pale  moon 
light.  "Do  you  believe  in  wasting  the  golden  years 
of  anarchy's  flowering  youth  in  detached  acts  of  vio 
lence?  In  mere  disjointed  outbreaks  of  sporadic 
revenge?" 

Oborski's  face  was  convulsed.  "Anything  to  repay 
to  the  Imperial  family  of  the  Romanoffs  the  ruin  and 
devastation  of  Poland!  Revenge,  personal,  bloody, 
terrific,  is  their  doom!" 

"Precisely,"  answered  Stein,  in  a  chilling  voice, 
"and  for  ten  years  the  heroes  of  anarchy  have  followed 
to  Siberia  or  the  scaffold,  the  martyrs  of  this  policy  of 
narrow  revenge.  Is  the  sandy  plain  of  Poland  to  be 
the  only  battle-ground  of  the  twentieth  century? 
Romanoffs  spawn  quicker  than  the  red  death  can 
remove  them.  To  one  Caesar  another  succeeds  !  On 
this  narrow  platform  we  have  struggled  vainly.  Can 
you  not  see  that  horror  and  scorn  follow  the  personal 
assassin?  Our  battle  is  against  the  dominant  classes! 
Your  Polish  blindness  of  the  mole  leaves  you  groping! 
We  must  lift  the  banner  of  the  Brotherhood  of  Man! 
We  must  widen  the  field  of  action!  We  should  over 
throw  the  tyranny  of  wealth,  aristocracy,  militarism, 
monopoly,  and  light  the  fires  of  revolution  over  the 
world!  Bands  of  frantic  conspirators,  gloomily  nursing 
petty  local  wrongs  will  never  awaken  the  down-trod 
den  masses!  Look  at  the  world  to-day.  It  is  not 
alone  in  frozen  Russia  that  tyranny  exists!  Italy* s 
toilers,  Germany's  peasants,  England's  down-trodden 
workmen,  Ireland's  outcasts,  the  French  artisan,  the 


I5O  THE    ANARCHIST 

Belgian  miner,  America's  groaning  wage-workers,  all 
these  sweat  under  the  yoke  of  Capital,  the  sign  of  the 
modern  demon,  Plutocracy,  which  grinds  men's  bodies 
and  women's  souls  in  a  grip  more  merciless  than  the 
Czar's  iron -mailed  hand  of  despotism!  No!  Oborski! — 
a  few  mad  tracts,  a  little  dabbling  in  the  portable 
terrors  of  the  bomb  and  infernal  machine,  a  noisy 
howl  against  royalty  does  not  reach  the  hearts  beat 
ing  in  unison  with  us  wherever  money  has  made  man  its 
slave!  Look  at  barbaric  lands, — the  East,  China!  We 
have  no  coherent  masses  of  proselytes  there  to  bring 
in!  We  must  make  anarchy  broader,  less  volcanic, 
recruit  its  ranks,  restrict  needless  ferocity,  and  win 
over  thousands  to  join  us  in  a  broad  uprising,  a  con 
flict  wrapping  Europe  and  America  in  a  sweeping  revo 
lutionary  flame!  We  had  the  impulse  in  'forty-eight!' 
The  yearning,  the  upheaval !  We  must  select  a  field 
where  wrongs  affecting  the  whole  of  modern  society 
can  be  thrown  into  the  scale  to  fill  our  ranks!  True, 
we  can,  by  combined  effort  in  Italy,  Spain,  and  the 
weaker  nations,  bring  on  the  European  conflict!  To 
turn  the  scale  in  France,  Germany  and  England,  we 
must  arouse  the  workers  of  the  world !  Russia,  on 
which  we  have  wasted  our  first  attack,  by  sheer  inertia 
of  ignorance,  will  drag  along  fifty  years  behind  our 
general  advance.  No!"  said  Stein,  his  eyes  flashing  like 
steel  sword-points.  "We  must  merge  labor-unions, secret 
societies,  socialism  and  anarchistic  uplifting  in  one 
organized  protest  against  the  tyranny  of  Money.  We 
seek  victory,  not  martyrdom !  Victory  is  only  possible 
where  political  power  is  reachable  by  the  laboring 
masses,  where  money,  courage,  numbers,  and  a  free 
press  and  a  weak  army  can  aid  us!  Where  no  nobil 
ity,  no  reigning  family,  no  hereditary  rulers  can  smother 


THE    ANARCHIST  l5l 

our  kindling  fires!  Your  land  was  sacrificed  to  the 
greed  of  three  tyrants!  My  beloved  Germany  groans 
under  ten  thousand  corrupt  noble  masters  and  a  rot 
ten  system.  Aristocracy  is  strong  in  Germany  and 
England!  France  needs  only  the  electric  impulse  of  an 
outbreak  elsewhere  to  break  into  flame!  We  must  get 
power — move  on,  consolidate,  organize  and  fight  on 
broad  ground.  It  can  only  be  done,  where  I  go  to 
perhaps  lay  down  my  life  for  the  Cause!" 

"It  is?"  said  Oborski,  astonished. 

"In  the  land  of  unredressed  wrongs,  the  United 
States!"  answered  Stein  solemnly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  MUNICH — BEAUFORD'S  ADIEU — A  STRANGE  MARRIAGE — 
CALLED  BACK THE  DARK  ANGEL'S  WING STEIN'S  SUM 
MONS — COUNT  OBORSKI' s  WOOING 

"FRITZ!  Take  this  key  and  bring  me  a  glass  of  'Goli 
ath'!"  Count  Oborski's  brow  was  gloomy  as  he  threw 
himself  on  his  splendid  couch.  He  was  alone!  The 
determined  face  of  Carl  Stein  haunted  him!  Though 
the  scholar  was  now  wending  his  furtive  path  to  his 
discreetly  chosen  lair,  the  noble's  nerves  were  shaken. 
"Stein  his  superior  now!  Did  the  aspiring  German 
dream  of  impressing  his  lofty  views  upon  the  anarchis 
tic  leaders!"  Even  the  valet's  footfall,  as  he  returned 
with  the  Pole's  special  tonic  cordial,  jarred  on  his  ting 
ling  nerves!  He  seemed  to  hear,  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  the  rushing  of  dark  wings,  the  hoarse  murmur 
of  distant  voices;  the  swelling  of  lurid  flames  danced 


152  THE    ANARCHIST 

before  his  eyes,  and  the  trampling  of    a    mighty    host 
broke  the  dim  silence  of  the  lonely  night. 

As  his  eyes  closed,  he  tried  to  drive  away  the  Red 
Spectre,  the  Cause  without  a  name.  "The  American. 
By  God  !  she  is  an  uncrowned  queen !  She  shall  be 
mine!  No  man  must  stand  between  us!  Her  money, 
her  talent,  her  splendid  presence!  What  a  sensation 
as  Countess  Oborski!" 

His  eyes  closed,  in  heavy  sleep,  clutching  him  as 
with  ghostly  fingers  on  his  throat!  The  passionate 
fantastic  fool  little  knew  that  his  every  movement  was 
watched  by  his  confederates!  That  sturdy,  sleek 
Fritz,  a  beetle-browed  Leporello,  murmured:  "No  one 
ever  trusted  a  Pole!  They  are  all  unstable  as  water! 
This  fellow  is  a  compound  of  voluptuary,  egoist  and 
barbaric  poet!" 

Lonely  Carl  Stein  from  his  casement  watched  the 
stars  in  silence.  "This  secret  council !  I  may  have 
to  leave!  But  passion  and  vanity  will  sweep  Oborski 
along  to  the  conquest  of  this  inexperienced  American 
girl!  Loneliness  will  tell!  I  am  sure  Admiral  Wal 
ton  will  fight  off  all  English  or  American  suitors!  The 
splendid  social  parade  at  his  niece* s  expense  is  the 
wine  of  life  to  the  old  man  of  the  world!  The  cardi 
nal  point  is  to  get  Beauford  out  of  the  way!  His 
self-poise,  his  restrained  dignity  leads  her  wandering 
on,  in  curiosity,  to  find  the  real  man  under  all  that 
'good  form!'  And  he  is  by  no  means  a  fool!  It  is 
undeniable  the  English  nobility  is  the  steadiest  of  our 
modern  days!  The  old  boast  'An  English  Lord  is 
always  somebody — a  continental  prince  may  or  may 
not  be  a  personage.'  Yes!  His  removal  is  a  sine  qua 
twn  of  this  game  of  human  chess!  Once  in  Oborski's 
power,  her  millions  shall  back  our  initiatory  struggles! 


THE    ANARCHIST  153 

If  he  refuses — I  can  reach  him  in  any  spot  on  the 
habitable  globe!" 

There  was  a  scowl  on  the  face  of  the  stern,  unloved 
man  as  he  slept — around  the  rugged  crags  of  his  char 
acter  no  tender  vine  of  affection,  with  its  white  blos 
soms  of  innocent  love  had  ever  clung!  Carl  Stein's 
polished  intellect  reflected  no  blushing  glow  of  a  hu 
man  heart  within  !  His  dark  formula  of  the  Brother 
hood  of  Man  was  rigid  in  its  mathematical  logic  of 
fixed  demonstration!  Borne  on  by  hatred  and  scorn 
of  others,  maddened  by  the  coherent  strength  of  the 
cultured  classes  clinging  to  creed,  home,  country,  and 
the  marriage  tie,  the  anarchist  never  looked  behind  to 
see  the  dark  fiends  in  his  train!  His  mental  vision 
was  blind  to  the  great  and  simple  truth  that  the  new 
Gospel  must  be  one  of  Love,  not  of  Hate — of  Faith, 
not  of  Doubt — of  a  clasping  not  a  clenching  of  human 
hands! 

Yet  as  the  unbending  dark  enthusiast  slept,  God's 
peace  wrapped  a  resting  world  in  slumber,  even  as 
a  babe  sleeps  in  its  mother's  arms.  For  even  on  the 
threshold  of  the  twentieth  century,  with  all  its  vex 
ing  problems  facing  the  kindly  and  the  good  as  well 
as  the  sons  of  shadow,  the  immortal  spirit  of  Love  is 
abroad  among  men! 

"A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light 
Three  angels  bear  the  Holy  Grail 

With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  whits 
On  sleeping  wings  they  sail!" 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  are  the  three  blessed  angel 
guardians  of  the  new  dispensation  of  Light!  Unseen 
by  Carl  Stein,  these  smiling  angels  passed  the  dark 
dreaming  sleeper,  whose  iron  code  of  destruction, 


154  THE    ANARCHIST 

whose  red-hot  plow-share  of  the  newer  law,  cleft  every 
human  tie  which  binds  in  this  world,  and  shattered 
the  golden  filaments  of  Faith  leading  beyond  the 
stars! 

In  intellectual  pride  of  the  Ego,  Carl  Stein  found 
jrod  only  a  myth,  a  priest's  lying  invention  !  Country — 
a  mere  shibboleth  of  the  politician.  The  State,  an 
assemblage  of  grasping  knaves.  Society,  a  mad  mas 
querade,  and  the  family,  a  worn-out  human  device! 

In  every  fibre  of  his  perverted  system  the  dark  poison 
of  Bakunin  rankled!  He  fought  behind  the  bulwarks 
of  secrecy  and  cowardice,  and  dared  not  come  out 
into  the  open,  face  the  genius  of  civilization,  and 
point  one  single  noble  life — one  elevating  thought,  a 
single  practical  reform  produced  by  anarchy!  He 
dared  not,  with  blinded  eyes,  gaze  on  the  arena  of  the 
sporadic  struggle  and  mark  the  footstep  of  the  anar 
chist,  red  with  the  blood  of  innocent  or  deluded  enthu 
siasts.  Dagger  and  torch,  the  bowl  and  the  bomb,  as 
new  ministers  of  moral  conviction! 

Shuddering  in  the  darkness  of  midnight,  driving 
on — on — by  the  false  lights  of  Treason,  the  anarchist 
would  drive  the  ship  of  State  on  the  black  rocks  of 
Destruction ! 

And  after — after  all— only  the  cold  echo  of  Bakunin's 
voice  from  the  grave — 

NOTHING! 

The  gloomy  sun  lit  up  the  fa£adeof  the  Votiv-Kirche 
and  its  sweet  bells  were  chiming  noon  as  Philip  Mait- 
land  sauntered  along  the  marble  porch.  The  red  and 
brown  tints  of  the  turning  leaves  of  the  Thuringian 
forests  tinted  his  cheek. 

"Ah!"     He  sprang  nimbly    into  a  carriage,  for    the 


THE   ANARCHIST  155 

face  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  maid,  peering  anxiously  out, 
met  his  glance. 

"Miss  Evelyn  is  waiting,  sir,"  said  the  abigail,  "in- 
the  Burgplatz  garden." 

"I  was  right,"  conjectured  Maitland,  as  he  gazed 
on  the  glowing  face  of  Evelyn  Hartley,  when  she 
lightly  sprang  into  the  carriage  and  directed  her 
coachman  to  seek  the  alleys  of  the  Prater.  "It  is 
Love!"  In  answering  the  earnest  queries  of  his  country 
woman,  Philip  Maitland  was  busied  until  the  leafy 
arches  of  the  park  trees  shaded  them.  The  carriage 
stopped.  Maitland  with  growing  wonder  listened  to 
Miss  Hartley's  murmur: 

"Will  you  walk  with  me?"  As  they  wandered  along 
the  American  noted  the  carriage  moving  slowly  behind 
in  sight. 

"Quite  a  neat  bit  of  feminine  strategy.  Evelyn  is 
a  social  generalissimo  of  no  mean  power."  Philip  con 
cluded,  "But  whose  watchful  eyes  does  she  wish  to 
avoid." 

An  hour  later  Philip  Maitland,  seated  on  a  rustic 
bench,  listened  to  the  last  words  of  his  enthusiastic 
charge. 

Miss  Hartley's  cheeks  were  crimsoned  as  she  paused 
and  raised  her  beaming  eyes  to  Philip's  anxious  face. 
There  was  an  astonishment  which  Maitland  could  not 
conceal.  He  was  in  hesitation. 

"Can  I  trust  you?  Will  you  be  my  brother  in  this? 
You  can  see  that  I  can  not  act  alone?"  Evelyn's  voice 
was  pleading  in  its  musical  eloquence. 

"Certainly!  I  will  do  your  bidding.  I  will  go  to 
Munich  on  the  next  train!  I  will  use  the  same  discre 
tion  as  if  I  were  acting  for  myself.  The  hardest  part 
of  your  charge  is  to  keep  your  secret!  Can  I  do  so 


156  THE  ANARCHIST 

loyally?  Is  this  not  too  grave  a  matter  for  sudden 
decision!  Your  mother!  Your  uncle!  and  Judge  Fox, 
your  trustee!  Have  you  no  duty  as  regards  them?" 

Miss  Hartley  proved  her  heirship  of  her  father's 
dauntless  will  as  she  gravely  replied:  "Philip!  I  have 
not  told  you  yet, — but  my  mother  and  I  will  lead  divided 
lives!  I  owe  nothing  to  my  mother!  I  am  following 
my  father's  wishes  as  imparted  by  his  daily  teaching! 
His  happiness  was  sacrificed  to  my  mother's  cold  ego 
tism!  They  were  not  to  be  sundered!  I  owe  to  my 
mother  respect,  but  not  the  sacrifice  of  my  future,  my 
heart-life,  my  mental  existence!  How  should  she 
guide  me  who  cannot  shape  her  own  purposes  to  any 
end  loftier  than  a  pitiable  self-worship!  As  for  Uncle 
Walton,  he  is  worldly,  garrulous,  and,  while  loyal  and 
sincere,  would  never  withstand  Beauford's  direct  ques 
tioning.  Judge  Fox  does  know  all  and  approves  of 
the  investment  of  a  block  of  the  trust  funds  abroad. 
He  urged  a  similar  course  upon  my  father  for  years  as 
his  conservative  mind  dreads  a  sudden  tumult  in  the 
United  States.  He  objects  to  keeping  all  the  reserve 
funds  of  the  trust  in  manufacturing  or  home  railway 
shares.  City  property  at  home  is  subject  to  the  tax 
ation  and  handling  of  machine  politicians,  the  evolu 
tion  of  the  saloon  loafer.  The  old  lawyer  always  claimed 
that  the  power  to  centralize  our  government  to  be 
strong  enough  for  absolute  safety  does  not  exist  in  our 
laws.  I  have  often  heard  him  say  that  our  feverish 
policy  represents  the  changing  and  eagerly  excited 
political  passions  of  our  voters." 

"You  are  quite  a  political  economist,  Evelyn,"  said 
Maitland. 

"I  often  listened  to  my  father  and  Judge  Fox  in 
their  secret  councils.  If  I  have  learned  anything  it 


THE    ANARCHIST  157 

is  from  them.  They  jointly  deplored  the  extensive 
influence  of  our  great  newspapers  which  are  absolutely 
free  of  responsibility  and  control.  Strange  to  say, 
our  own  Western  States  are  liable  to  political  as  well 
as  atmospheric  cyclones.  The  storm  center  of  national 
disturbance  is  found  in  the  uneasy  communities  of  the 
Mississippi  Valley  which  seem  to  resent  the  payment 
of  any  interest,  and  become  enraged  under  the  static 
burden  of  the  freight  on  their  crops  to  the  seaboard. 
Now,  Philip,"  said  the  heiress,  brightly,  "you  can 
easily  divine  that  the  mortgage  on  the  Beauford  estates 
will  be  charged  against  my  share  of  the  Trust.  It  is 
then  not  necessary  to  notify  Admiral  Walton,  as  my 
mother  can  not  be  affected.  There  is  but  one  thing 
needed.  It  is  for  you  to  keep  my  secret!  Will  you?" 

"I  promise  to  keep  it  from  all  but  my  own  heart!" 
warmly  replied  Maitland.  His  voice  shook  a  little  as 
he  said  slowly,  "And  you  do  not  wish  the  man  you 
are  risking  eighty  thousand  pounds  for,  to  even  know 
of  your  noble  generosity?" 

"Never!  That  would  be  fatal!"  cried  Evelyn,  hastily 
dropping  her  veil.  "Let  us  go,  Philip!  You  need 
rest  and  you  must  not  miss  your  train,  if  you  are  to 
meet  Alton!  No  one  must  ever  know  we  have  met 
here!  If  you  encounter  any  friends  at  Munich,  the 
galleries, and  your  loneliness, in  Beauford's  absence, are 
an  excuse!  I  trust  you  as  a  brother!  I  have  only 
you  to  depend  upon!"  She  stood  before  him, — bright, 
lovely,  and  thrilled  with  a  woman's  noblest  feeling  of 
self-devotion. 

Evelyn  Hartley  did  not  hear  what  Maitland  mur 
mured  as  he  suddenly  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it!  — 

Long  after  Philip  was  speeding  away  toward  Munich, 
Miss  Hartley,  in  the  delightful  security  of  her  own 


158  THE  ANARCHIST 

room,  felt  the  touch  of  his  lips.  By  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  as  she  rose  to  meet  her  friends  at  dinner,  she 
broke  a  rose  from  a  bouquet,  to  which  was  attached 
a  simple  card  "Good-bye." 

It  was  Maitland's  covert  adieu. 

Pausing  a  moment  at  the  mirror  to  adjust  the  rose 
in  her  bosom,  Evelyn  Hartley's  eyes  were  dreamy  as 
she  felt  Maitland's  kisses  burning  on  the  hand  which 
held  his  rose. 

"I  wonder  if  he  thinks  me  unwomanly!"  the  heiress 
murmured,  in  sudden  alarm. 

Afar,  sweeping  on  toward  the  Bavarian  plain,  Philip 
Maitland  reviewed  his  strange  commission! 

"Beauford  is  the  luckiest  man  in  God's  world!" 
thought  he,  with  a  sigh.  "And  I  am  to  be  her  brother!" 

A  general  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise  followed 
Miss  Hartley's  astonished  remark.  "Lord  Beauford 
returned!"  The  circle  at  dinner  were  mystified  as  the 
steward  answered  a  query.  "Admiral  Walton  has  not 
arrived.  Milord  is  alone!"  In  the  drawing-room 
there  was  an  eager  inquiry  in  Evelyn  Hartley's  eyes 
as  she  extended  her  hand  to  the  returning  nobleman. 
Alfred  Beauford's  pale  face  and  haggard  eyes  showed 
more  than  the  fatigue  of  his  voyage. 

Miss  Hartley  was  startled  by  Lady  Dunham's  ques 
tion.  "You  are  not  ill, — suffering?"  It  was  in  a  grave 
voice  that  Beauford  dispelled  all  doubts.  "I  am 
merely  worn  with  my  preparations  for  departure.  I 
am  charged,  Miss  Hartley,  with  Admiral  Walton's 
regrets.  He  was  suddenly  obliged  by  important  busi 
ness  to  leave  me  in  London,  though  on  his  way 
hither  with  me.  You  will  have  full  letters,  and  he 
will  be  here  in  a  few  days!"  The  grave  courtesy  with 
which  Beauford  met  the  convives  was  unrelieved  by 


THE    ANARCHIST  159 

any  lifting  of  the  shadows  on  his  brow.  Count  Obor- 
ski's  special  attentions  to  the  heiress  enabled  Pro 
fessor  Stein  to  note  the  exchange  of  a  whisper  between 
Beauford  and  Lady  Isabel. 

The  English  beauty  moved  hastily  to  a  window  to 
escape  the  penetrating  glance  of  Stein.  Her  limbs 
were  trembling,  for  in  her  heart  the  words  of  Beau- 
ford  were  echoing  the  knell  of  all  her  budding  hopes! 

"I  leave  for  Trieste  to-morrow,  and  now  quit  Eng 
land  forever?  I  must  see  you  to-night!"  The  by-play 
of  the  salon  continued,  but  the  shadow  was  only  lifted 
when  Lord  Beauford  took  his  leave. 

"I  hope  to  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects  to-mor 
row,  as  I  am  going  away,  Miss  Hartley,"  remarked 
the  Englishman,  "Would  you  kindly  fix  an  hour,  as 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  see  you  again  soon!" 

Evelyn  was  startled  as  Beauford  spoke.  The  merry 
circle  were  busied  in  arranging  another  Viennese  explo 
ration.  Poor  Isabel  Dunham  was  drawn  into  the  joy 
ous  cabal  but  her  anxious  eyes  strayed  to  where  Beau- 
ford,  with  a  face  as  pale  as  marble,  was  earnestly 
conversing  with  the  American  heiress. 

The  fair-haired  baauty  writhed  in  silent  agony,  even 
while  smiling  on  Stein  and  Oborski  and  listening  to 
Mrs.  St.  Leger's  raptures  over  the  morrow's  outing. 
"Evelyn  has  rejected  him  and  I  lose  him  forever !  Oh! 
God!  if  I  could  hold  him  back!"  Lady  Dunham  dared 
not  leave  before  the  English  peer  had  closed  his  formal 
visit.  "He  will  send  a  letter  to  me  at  once!  I  must 
escape!"  And  it  was  no  fictitious  "migraine"  which 
gave  her  an  excuse  for  retirement.  Isabel  Dunham 
only  caught  the  last  sentence  of  his  conversation  with 
the  heiress. 

"Of  course  I  will  run  on  to  see  Phil,  but  I  can  get  a 


l6o  THE    ANARCHIST 

direct  train  to  Trieste  from  Schloss  Schwartzenburg. 
I  have  wired  to  Maitland  and  he  will  meet  me!"  He 
was  gone ! 

Beauford  left  the  two  women  in  dismay! 

"/  have  ruined  all!"  thought  Evelyn.  "He  will 
follow  Philip  and  meet  the  solicitor  at  Munich!  His 
hasty  departure  must  be  stayed  at  all  cost!" 

"And  /  shall  have  no  chance  to  win  him  to  my 
side,"  bitterly  reflected  Isabel  Dunham.  His  voyage  to 
Australia  would  be  one  of  months!  Under  the  pressure 
of  sorrow  he  might  imitate  the  fantastic  Sir  Roger 
Tichborne,  whose  story  is  hidden  by  the  waves  of  the 
same  ocean,  hiding  the  fate  of  the  romantic  archduke 
John  of  Austria.  "He  is  lost  to  me,  lost  forever!  It 
is  Kismet!  His  father's  folly  and  my  own  parent's 
flinty  heart  have  ruined  us  both!" 

Miss  Hartley  took  counsel  of  her  heart  as  soon  as 
the  chevalier  Oborski  could  be  dispatched,  eager  to 
perfect  his  plans  of  pleasure.  Professcr  Stein,  as  he 
pressed  her  hand,  murmured  meaningly  :  "I  hope  there 
is  nothing  wrong  in  England." 

Evelyn  coldly  drew  back  from  his  too  eager  confi 
dence. 

"Ah!  My  bird  is  shy!  Can  it  be  the  English 
lord?"  Stein  pondered.  "But  he  goes!  That  is  one  car 
dinal  point!  It  leaves  the  field  to  my  gallant  Pole! 
Now,  he  must  make  his  running!  I  will  pump  Wal 
ton  on  his  return." 

Ten  minutes  after  Beauford  left  the  salon,  at  her 
desk,  Evelyn  indited  a  dispatch  to  Maitland. 

"That  will  do!"  the  pretty  conspirator  decided.  "If 
he  sends  the  return  message  to  me,  as  well  as  direct 
to  Schwartzenburg,  Beauford  will  surely  await  his  re 
turn!  I  can  absolutely  trust  Philip!" 


THE    ANARCHIST  l6l 

The  gentle  woman  paused  not  to  question  her  right 
to  dispose  of,  in  any  way,  the  man  whose  rose  lay  on 
her  bosom,  the  silent  knight  whose  kiss  sealed,  on 
her  hand,  his  oath  of  loyal  service. 

Under  the  stars,  pacing  the  long  portico  of  the 
Hotel,  Alfred  Beauford  walked  with  Isabel  Dunham. 
A  lace  veil  quickly  caught  up,  shrouded  her  delicate 
face,  but  the  eyes,  shining  on  him  in  the  pale  moon 
light,  were  burning  lamps  of  love! 

In  her  hopeless  yearning,  conscious  of  his  stern 
strength  of  will,  poor  Lady  Dunham's  words  faltered 
on  the  tongue. 

"It  is  so  sudden,  so  final,  this  trip.  Is  there  no 
way  to  keep  you,  Alfred?"  she  murmured. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  the  others  can  never  know, 
Isabel,"  said  Beauford.  "This  voyage  may  save  my 
life.  Absence  may  teach  me  philosophy.  I  could  not 
remain  here  and  face  my  ruin.  I  have  not  slept  for 
a  fortnight.  Sometimes  I  fear  that  my  mind  is  giving 
away. " 

"Will  you  not  appeal  to  your  friends,  Alfred?"  the 
frightened  woman  cried,  for  his  voice  was  as  cold  as 
an  echo  from  the  tomb.  "I  can  not!  The  very  thought 
chokes  me,  and  eighty  thousand  pounds  is  needed  to 
prevent  the  final  step  which  parts  the  title  and  the 
estate.  My  solicitors  are  baffled.  A  direct  sale  would 
bring  in  the  sum  but  Jervaux  is  gone  forever  in 
either  case.  No!  I  must  go  out  and  walk  the  path  of 
life, — alone!" 

The  bitterness  of  his  voice  cut  her  like  a   knife. 

"You  shall  not  go  in  ignorance  of  the  past.  You 
must  hear  what  I  would  say!"  Isabel  Dunham  was 
clinging  to  his  arm  and  shaking  like  a  reed  in  the 
wind. 


l62  THE    ANARCHIST 

Though  his  heart  was  racked,  Beauford  gently  said: 
"It  will  spare  us  another  pang,  Isabel,  if  our  past  life 
goes  with  the  rest.  I  walked  down  alone  through 
the  old  oak  alleys  of  Ventnor  where  we  met  in  hap 
pier  days!  I  think  I  left  my  heart  there  under  the 
drifted  leaves!  No!  Spare  yourself,  and  have  pity  on 
me.  Do  not  make  it  too  hard  for  me,  this  going 
away.  Tell  me  of  yourself — of  your  future.  You 
will  go  home?"  He  spoke  sadly  and  his  eyes  rested 
kindly  on  the  gentle  woman  whose  diamond  tears  glit 
tered  through  the  lace  folds 

"Take  me  in,"  she  gasped.  "But,  I  can  write  what 
I  can  not  say  now.  By  the  old  days  at  Ventnor,  I  beg 
you,  do  not  sail  till  you  hear  from  me  at  Trieste. 
Will  you  promise?  Give  me  this  grace!  It  is  all  so 
sudden!" 

Lord  Beauford  paused  in  an  alcove  and  wrote  a  few 
lines  on  a  card.  "There  is  the  name,"  he  said,  his 
voice  sounding  harsh  and  strange.  "Alfred  Burton, 
'Hotel  du  Croix  de  Malte,'  Trieste.  I  bury  Beauford 
at  the  city  gates!  My  passage  is  booked  for  Australia 
on  the  steel  fourmaster  'Restless.'  The  mail  or  tele 
graph  will  reach  me  at  the  inn." 

Isabel  Dunham  paused  at  the  main  entrance. 

"I  have  your  word  that  you  will  not  sail  till  you  have 
my  letter  or  message?  That  you  will  dispatch  me  on 
your  arrival  in  Trieste?  Something  may  be  needed  at 
the  last!  I  can  not  let  you  go  until  I  know  this!" 

Beauford  bent  his  tall  form  and  kissed  her  trembling 
hands.  "You  have  my  word,  Isabel.  All  I  have  left 
to  give!  Now,  good-night  and  I  will  say  a  formal 
farewell  to  morrow." 

In  the  gloomy  entrance  of  the  shaded  hall,  he  felt 
two  arms  around  his  neck,  and  their  eyes  met  in  speech- 


THE  ANARCHIST  163 

less  sorrow,  for  he  had  folded  her  to  his  breast  and 
sealed  on  her  lips  the  last  avowal  of  a  lost  love! 
"You  shall  not  share  my  ruin,  Little  One,"  he  whis 
pered.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  choking  sob,  a  rustle 
of  robes,  the  lightest  footfall  dying  on  his  ears,  and 
through  an  unaccustomed  mist  veiling  his  eyes,  the 
ruined  peer  saw  when  he  raised  his  head,  that  he  was 
indeed  alone! 

A  porter  at  the  hotel  wondered,  wide  eyed,  at  the 
haggard  appearance  of  the  English  'milor'  when  at  day 
break  he  brushed  past  him  as  the  doors  were  opened. 
In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  Alfred  Beauford  had 
wandered  until  dawn,  driven  on,  unmindful  of  time  by 
the  conflict  raging  in  his  breast. 

Miss  Evleyn  Hartley  feared  to  seclude  herself  further, 
and  it  was  with  a  serious  face  she  joined  the  excur 
sion  party  at  the  gates  of  the  hotel  in  the  early  after 
noon.  Her  eye  was  steady  as  she  answered  Professor 
Carl  Stein's  query  in  regard  to  Lady  Isabel. 

"Still  suffering,  Professor.  I  have  just  left  Lady 
Dunham  in  her  darkened  room." 

"I  may  be  yet  able  to  prevent  his  plunge  into  the 
obscurity  of  an  unknown  fate, "  thought  the  heiress  as 
she  dropped  the  fragments  of  a  telegram  from  the 
drag.  Maitland's  answer  was  encouraging.  And  with 
her  own  hand  she  had  delivered  to  Lord  Beauford 
Maitland's  request  t©  await  his  return  at  Schloss 
Schwartzenburg. 

"I  can  give  him  three  days,  luckily,"  said  Beauford. 
"I  have  just  received  news  that  the  'Restless'  awaits 
some  special  cargo  for  a  week  longer." 

"You  return  here  then?"  Evelyn  said  meaningly, 

"I  go  on  direct  to  Trieste  from  Schwartzenburg.  I 
wish  td  say  a  idtig  g$6d-t>j^  to  Phil!"  arisWefed 


164  THE  ANARCHIST 

But  Philip's  words: 

All  going  well,  both  parties  here.  Your  instructions  under 
stood.  Have  wired  Beauford  at  both  places, 

gave    her  renewed  courage. 

Alfred  Beauford  turned  as  his  carriage  swept  away 
and  watching  Lady  Dunham's  windows,  saw  the  flutter 
of  a  white  kerchief!  It  seemed  to  call  him  back,  yet 
with  a  heavy  heart,  he  reached  the  station,  his  thoughts 
turning  to  the  lonely  woman  whose  thin  hands  were 
clasped  in  unavailing  sorrow  as  she  realized  that  Beau- 
ford  was  lost  to  her  forever! 

In  a  spacious  private  apartment  of  the  great  "Hotel 
des  Quatre  Saisons, "  at  Munich,  on  this  memorable 
afternoon,  three  men  sat  at  a  table  covered  with  papers, 
maps,  and  plans.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  Ameri 
can  dash  and  alertness  of  Mr.  Edgar  Alton,  the  hawk- 
eyed  London  representative  of  the  old  Cleveland 
lawyer.  Crisp  brown  hair,  light-gray  eyes  with  a 
glint  of  steel  in  them,  wiry  and  active,  Alton  was  the 
product,  at  thirty-five,  of  a  long  apprenticeship  in  bank, 
corporation, and  of  law-office  sharpness.  Trusted  implic 
itly  by  Wilkinson  Fox,  he  carried  secrets  of  import 
under  his  impassive  exterior.  A  single  man,  he  had 
probed  London  life  in  his  years  of  residence  and  was 
an  Anglo-American  of  power.  His  mysterious  money 
movements  excited  the  financiers  of  the  city  who  could 
not  imagine  that  the  gigantic  interests  of  several 
American  railroads  were  represented  by  the  self-reliant, 
solitary  man.  Philip  Maitland,  under  a  convenient 
alias,  was  an  amused  listener  of  the  cross-examination 
of  Mr.  Wilkins,  the  London  representative  of  Beau- 
ford's  solicitors. 

"I  know  the  firm  well,"   whispered    Alton    to  Mait- 


THE   ANARCHIST  165 

land,  as  he  made  a  pretext  of  a  short  rest  to  confer 
with  his  adviser.  "Ramsdel,  Jarman,  and  'Wakefield 
are  renowned  for  business  acumen  and  conservative 
wisdom.  I  think  that  I  will  accompany  Mr.  Wilkins  to 
London.  If  the  bankers  of  the  estate  confirm  the 
schedules  here  presented,  a  sinking  fund  of  four  thou 
sand  pounds  a  year  would  extinguish  the  mortgage  and 
its  interest  in  twenty  years  and  leave  three  thousand 
pounds  a  year  available  now  to  the  use  of  Lord  Beau- 
ford.  But  the  arrangement  must  include  his  bankers  to 
assume  the  trust  as  the  solicitors  may  advise  and  direct 
but  can  not  enter  into  the  transaction.  So  I  must  get 
back  at  once  to  London.  I  am  fortunately  placed  in 
having  effected  a  great  minority  compromise  for  them 
in  America,  several  seasons  past.  With  their  aid  I 
can  preserve  Miss  Hartley's  incognito.  Beauford  will 
only  know  of  it  as  an  investment  of  American  funds. 
His  pride  will  yield  more  readily  to  that  arrangement 
than  a  public  English  transaction.  They  must  tele 
graph  and  delay  him  at  Trieste.  Of  course  I  count 
on  you  to  hold  him  and  to  dispatch  to  my  London 
address  all  the  details  you  gain  from  him.  If  you  go 
direct  to  Schloss  Schwartzenburg,  he  will  not  know 
of  your  Vienna  trip!  I  will  have  ample  time  on  the 
return  trip  to  go  over  every  detail  of  this  matter  with 
this  sad-eyed  chap  who  seems  to  be  crushed  with  the 
weight  of  other  people's  legal  troubles.  But  he  is  a 
capable  fellow — is  Mr.  Wilkins.  I'll  brighten  him  up 
a  bit!" 

It  was  undeniable  that  the  subdued,  colorless,  func 
tionary,  Wilkins  was  startled  out  of  his  London 
demeanor  by  the  unfamiliar  bustle  of  continental  life. 
Years  spent  in  an  atmosphere  redolent  of  parchment, 
in  varied  stages  of  decay,  sealing-wax,raw  and  burned, 


1 66  THE   ANARCHIST 

and  chambers  thicker  with  dust  than  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets,  had  sapped  the  foundation  of  whatever  jovi 
ality  the  placid  Wilkins  brought  with  him  into  this  vale 
of  tears. 

Over  an  impromptu  feast  of  sardanapalian  luxury,  the 
London  assistant  thawed,  as  a  generous  Burgundy 
warmed  his  veins.  He  delivered  with  care  to  Mr.  X. 
Y.  Z.  a  carefully  drawn  plan  for  the  handling  of  the 
Beauford  estates,  and  other  documents  evincing  the 
skill  of  his  principles.  "It  is  one  of  the  finest  estates 
in  Yorkshire,"  proudly  remarked  Wilkins.  "I  know 
it  well.  Joined  to  the  Ventnor  property,  it  would  be 
matchless  for  beauty  and  availability." 

The  astute  mind  of  Edgar  Alton  discovered  a  plan 
of  saving  several  hours  for  a  needed  conference  with 
Maitland  by  dispatching  the  joyous  legal  assistant  on 
a  hasty  tour  of  the  local  objects  of  interest,  in  charge 
of  a  skillful  valet  de  place.  You  can  meet  me  at  the 
station,  Mr.  Wilkins,"  genially  said  the  artful  Alton. 
"My  man  will  be  answerable  for  all  your  things.  Just 
leave  him  your  dispatch-box  and  you  can  enjoy  your 
brief  stay  now."  When  the  two  Americans  were  alone, 
Alton  proceeded  to  unbosom  himself  to  Maitland, 
whose  standing  in  Cleveland  was  well  known  to  him. 

"I  was  disturbed  when  I  received  Judge  Fox's  very 
careful  and  detailed  instructions,  for  fear  that  Miss 
Hartley's  youth  and  inexperience  had  been  taken  advan 
tage  of.  It  looks  to  be  a  fairy  story,  though.  Lord 
Beauford  seems  to  be  a  man  of  the  highest  personal 
merit  and  has  the  shrinking  feeling  of  a  high-born 
Englishman  about  pecuniary  obligation.  My  last  fear 
was  that  Mrs.  Hartley  was  desirous  of  setting  herself  up 
at  her  daughter's  expense,  in  someway,  as  a  rejuven 
ated  county-family  representative.  The  Judge  doe 


THE    ANARCHIST  167 

not  particularly  fancy  this  German  doctor's  influence 
over  her.  He  expresses  himself  cynically,  as  to  such 
extreme  devotion  with  no  especial  view  of  ultimate 
reward.  From  what  you  have  guardedly  said,  I  infer 
that  this  peculiar  attraction  of  physician  and  patient 
has  annoyed  Admiral  Walton,  and,  perhaps,  led  to  an 
alienation  of  mother  and  daughter." 

"You  may  be  right!"  answered  Maitland  musingly. 
"Walton  is  proud,  and  Miss  Hartley  certainly  can 
not  bring  herself  to  the  level  of  her  mother's  house 
hold  physician,  who  is  as  much  nurse  and  flatterer,  as 
medical  man,  I  should  judge.  I  have  never  met  this 
Rheingold,  but  I  do  know  Alton,"  said  Philip  decid 
edly,  "that  the  union  of  David  Hartley  and  his  wife 
was  a  failure!  One  of  the  wrecks  on  the  shore  of  matri 
monial  error!  Through  all  the  struggles  of  his  lonely 
life,  David  Hartley  never  had  a  heart-thrill  of  men 
tal  sympathy  with  the  doll-faced  beauty  he  married." 

"Let  us  walk  down  to  the  Telegraph  Bureau.  I 
shall  send  a  cablegram  to  Judge  Fox  to  be  answered 
in  London.  May  I  say  that  you  approve  of  this  invest 
ment?  It  is  a  great  venture  to  make  on  one  man's 
judgment.  I  presume  you  know  even  more  of  Miss 
Hartley's  feelings  than  the  judge  in  this  peculiar 
affair." 

"I  will  write  a  dispatch  to  my  old  friend,  if  you  will 
copy  it  and  send  it  on  in  your  cipher,"  said  Maitland, 
affecting  not  to  notice  Alton's  searching  remark.  "I 
would  like  him  to  know  that  I  only  act  as  a  personal 
representative  of  Miss  Evelyn  in  this  conference — 
nothing  more.  You  can  send  her  by  registered  mail 
from  here,  a  full  statement  of  what  you  wish  her  to  do. 
I  will  also  write  her  and  she  can  then  safely  commu 
nicate  with  me  at  Schloss  Schwartzenburg.  I  will 


l68  THE    ANARCHIST 

come  up  to  Vienna  as  soon  as  poor  Beauford  leaves  me 
for  Trieste.  Then,  as  I  presume  you  will  have  his 
bankers  stop  him  by  telegrams  to  Treiste,  I  can  play 
the  role  of  ignorance  with  due  regard  to  my  honor 
should  he  return  to  Vienna." 

Philip  Maitland  was  intently  studying  the  ashes  of  his 
cigar,  as  he  concluded. 

"I  would  give  a  thousand  pounds  to  know  just  how 
you  look  at  the  impending  marriage  of  Lord  Beauford 
and  this  Lady  Bountiful,"  thought  Alton,  as  he  tran 
scribed  Maitland's  dispatch  from  his  cipher  book. 

But  Philip  made  no  sign,  and  his  own  dispatch  to 
Miss  Hartley  was  handed  in,  in  silence. 

"Now,  Alton,  we  have  a  couple  of  hours.  I  will  see 
you  to  your  train.  Mine  draws  out  an  hour  later  and 
I  will  be  with  Beauford  at  two  to-morrow.  Let  us  go 
and  have  a  quiet  chat  on  that  portico.  The  evening 
is  a  lovely  one." 

"Tell  me  of  your  American  colony  in  London,"  said 
Maitland,  when  the  newly-made  friends  were  at  ease  in 
their  inn.  "You,  I  presume,  are  in  weekly  touch  with 
Cleveland,  and  I  get  all  the  home  news  also." 

"I  go  out  but  little,"  said  Alton  gayly.  "Of  course 
I  am  too  busy  to  watch  the  antics  of  the  rich  Ameri 
cans — the  'parvenus'  and  'bienvenus'  who  are  storming 
London  drawing-rooms  with  golden  scaling  ladders! 
As  for  the  business  representatives,  we  are  all  spec 
ialists,  and  spend  our  days  at  work,  and  our  nights 
in  avoiding  each  other.  I  seldom  brush  against  our  Ameri 
can  diplomatists  who  are  only  remarkable  for  their 
persistent  dining  out  and  diplomatic  insignificance.  It 
is  a  little  galling  to  our  overstrung  national  vanity  to 
observe  that  we  are  without  real  diplomatic  weight 
in  Europe.  The  sinews  of  war  are  handled  by  the 


THE    ANARCHIST  l6g 

great  bankers  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  and  any 
forty-eight  page  New  York  journal  hints  enough  to 
our  government,  to  run  it  for  a  century!  Our  real  rela 
tions  with  the  world  are  buying  and  selling!  We  have 
no  other!  Our  foreign  policy  is  a  farce!  It  has  no 
purpose,  no  continuity!  No  beginning  nor  end!  Each 
important  act  of  our  government  as  regards  stranger 
nations,  is  usually  'a  deed  without  a  name!'  We 
missed  one  chance  of  a  glorious  national  revenge,  and 
a  successful  movement  which  would  have  put  some 
lively  reading  in  our  school  histories." 

"When  was  that?"  said  Maitland,  drily. 

"It  was  at  the  close  of  the  war  of  the  rebellion.  If 
we  had  joined  the  forces  of  Grant  and  Lee,  of  Sher 
man  and  Joe  Johnston,  and  taking  a  double  revenge 
for  the  attitude  of  England  to  the  North  and  South 
in  our  Civil  War,  sent  the  exasperated  Southern  veter 
ans  under  Grant  and  Joe  Johnston  to  sweep  Canada 
and  permitted  Lee  and  Sherman  to  take  the  Northern 
veterans  as  far  as  Darien,  we  would  have  made  the 
map  of  North  America  a  convenient  study  for  easy 
reference!  The  fact  is  that  if  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  'manifest  destiny,'  we  missed  the  chance  of  a  cent 
ury.  On  the  North,  the  quarrel  with  England,  in  the 
South,  the  insolence  of  Louis  Napoleon's  France  would 
have  been  punished!  But  the  chance  will  never  occur 
again!" 

"Why  not?"  said  Maitland,  amazed  at  Alton's  polit 
ical  daring. 

"Because  no  one  man  is  strong  enough,  nor  can 
hold  the  people  long  enough  to  inaugurate  a  strong 
foreign  policy  for  the  United  States!  Besides  our 
laws  are  admirably  framed  to  allow  openings  for  inter 
nal  discussion.  In  the  next  struggle,  you  will  see  the 


I7O  THE    ANARCHIST 

extreme  West  and  South,  banded    against  the  Middle 
and  Northern  States.   They  will  divide  yet!" 

"On  what  quarrel?"   anxiously  said  Maitland. 

"On  socialistic,  perhaps  anarchistic,  movements!" 
gravely  answered  Alton.  "The  protected  and  manu 
facturing  states  are  flooded  with  the  scum  of  Europe — 
alien  labor,  and  the  human  refuse  of  the  Continent ! 
The  red  propaganda  is  vigorously  pushed  in  these 
regions.  The  visible  results  of  organized  capital  in 
building  up  a  plutocracy  enrage  these  mouthing  would- 
be  assassins!  America  may  be  the  chosen  field  of 
anarchy  for  its  modern  revolt." 

"Bah!"  cried  Maitland,  "your  double-headed  filibus 
tering  scheme  had  the  ring  of  patriotism — of  a  wild 
spread  eagleism!  But  the  anarchist  is  an  anonymous 
coward!" 

"Maitland!  It  is  easy  to  say  that!  You  may  live  to 
see  the  day  when  you  will  admit  an  error.  Cincinnati, 
the  Kearney  Riots,  the  New  Orleans  outbreak,  the 
Homestead  affair,  the  Rock  Spring  troubles,  the  Seat 
tle  Chinese  episode,  the  Chicago  Haymarket  affair, 
the  death  of  Lincoln  and  Garfield,  and  other  untoward 
events  of  the  past,  prove  how  quickly  black  clouds 
may  form  in  our  clear  sky.  The  New  York  draft  riots 
demanded  the  return  of  an  Army  corps  from  the  field! 
The  elements  of  disorder  are  as  potent  as  the  elements  of 
order.  There  is  a  free-and-easy  lawlessness  in  the  South 
which  is  appalling.  It  is  not  vitally  dangerous  because 
finally  checked  by  a  superior  class,  the  landowners, 
the  political  rulers!  But  the  transient  character  of 
our  public  institutions  becomes  daily  more  apparent, 
with  the  growth  of  wealth  and  diversity  of  interest. 
There  is  a  direct  personal  envy  fighting  the  social  pre 
tensions  of  the  successful  in  the  United  States." 


THE    ANARCHIST  iyi 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  in  our  'first  families'  in  the 
United  States?"  queried  Maitland  smiling. 

"Not  a  bit!"  stoutly  answered  Alton.  "There  is 
no  established  grade  of  'lady  and  gentleman'  in  Amer 
ica.  The  one  bit  of  sense  of  the  French  Republic  of  '93 
was  its  legal  status  of  'citizen'  and  'citizeness'.  They 
were  then  face  to  face  with  an  established  aristocracy 
which  they  tried  to  destroy  and  which  they  feared, 
even  in  its  death  agonies.  We  have  no  such  class. 
The  social  pretensions  of  our  rich  are  only  founded  on 
transient  successes  which  any  money  reverse  sweeps 
away!" 

"Is  this  so?"  said  Maitland  doubtfully. 

"Is  it  not  so?"  answered  the  unflinching  Alton,  tri 
umphantly. 

Maitland  was  silent! 

"Look  at  the  marriages  of  our  heiresses  with  foreign 
nobles,  English  preferred!  '  continued  Alton.  "It  is 
not  that  love  draws  across  the  Atlantic,  but  that  the 
permanence  of  English  aristocracy  attracts  the  quick 
witted  daughters  of  Columbia 'who  are  secretly  encour 
aged  by  fathers  and  mothers,  even  by  brothers." 

"Why?"'   sharply  asked  Maitland. 

"Because  these  keen  plutocrats  know  that  the  grade 
attained  in  America  will  be  kept  up  by  their  descend 
ants  in  conservative  England.  They  do  fear  for  the  per 
manence  of  American  society.  These  gold  mounted 
unions  are  a  confession  of  fear  and  faith!" 

"And  yet  the  sons  of  American  millionaires  do  not 
marry  titled  foreign  women?"  stubbornly  said  Mait 
land,  returning  to  the  charge. 

"Precisely!  It  is  not  money — or  personal  inferiority 
or  any  other  objection  than  that  Plutus  junior-  can  not 
guarantee  the  superior  station  to  his  proposed  wife  in 


172  THE    ANARCHIST 

the  United  States  to  which  she  has  been  born,  for  it 
does  not  exist!"  replied  Alton  decisively. 

"Then  you  are  not  in  danger  of  an  English  alliance," 
smiled  Maitland. 

"Not  a  bit!"  said  Alton.  "I  am  not  a  man  of  leisure! 
We  have  no  respectable  leisure  class  in  America  as  yet. 
I  am  a  worker!  My  fight  is  to  gain  money.  If  I  suc 
ceed  my  fight  will  be  to  keep  it!" 

"That  is  not  very  lofty!"  said  Maitland. 

"It  is  the  formula  of  every  great  American  success, 
from  Girard  and  Astor,to  Vanderbilt  and  Gould.  When 
the  shackle  of  the  slave  was  broken  in  the  United 
States,  the  fiction  of  Southern  gentility  vanished !  The 
representatives  of  the  cavalier'  element  are  now  pro 
saically  at  work,  on  the  American  plane  of  the  equal 
ity  of  effort !  The  effort  of  struggling  men  to  main 
tain  wives  and  daughters  who  ignore  them,  in  a  fab 
ricated,  unreal,  queenly  splendor,  and  their  haughty 
and  vicious  sons  in  gilded  idleness  is  social  madness!" 

"Your  remedy?"  asked  Maitland,  almost  harshly,  for 
his  pride  was  cut. 

"I  have  none!"  answered  Alton.  "I  am  not  apolit 
ical  physician!  I  am  simply  a  cold  observer!  But  I 
do  not  borrow  trouble  about  American  aristocracy! 
Dissipation,  foreign  marriage,  speculation,  profusion 
and  folly  usually  bring  the  families,  after  three  or  four 
generations  back  to  the  original  dead  level!  Any  pecu 
liarly  ambitious  American  families  are  gradually  singled 
out  for  political  and  social  reprisals  and,  in  time,  they 
will  be  the  targets  for  the  bomb-throwers!" 

"Do  you  believe  this?"  growled  Maitland. 

"I  fear  it,"  moderately  answered  Alton.  "But,  by 
Jove,  there's  my  man!  It's  train  time!" 

"Singular  man!"  mused    Maitland,  as    he    saw    the 


THE    ANARCHIST  173 

joyous  Wilkins  and  the  Cassandra-like  Alton  whirled 
away.  "He  is  the  only  American  I  ever  met  who 
thought  he  was  not  'a  gentleman' — whatever  that  may 
be!  He  seems  to  be  a  capable  business  man!" 

Philip  Maitland  soon  forgot,  as  his  train  bore  him 
toward  the  meeting  with  Lord  Beauford,  the  singular 
views  of  Mr.  Edgar  Alton  on  the  future  of  America. 

"This  is  a  little  mystifying,"  commented  Evelyn 
Hartley  as  she  sat  in  her  boudoir  on  the  evening  when 
Maitland  and  Beauford  were  reunited  *at  the  castle. 
Horatio  Walton  was  not  a  man  of  surprises.  His  dis 
patch  was  ominous. 

Meet  me  on  my  arrival  at  ten,  at  the  hotel.  Immediately! 
Important!  Must  see  you  alone! 

"What  can  have  happened?  Has  he  discovered  my 
plan?  Has  he  cabled  to  Judge  Fox  his  protest?"  The 
frightened  heiress  was  agitated  when  the  valet  in  wait 
ing  announced  the  admiral's  immediate  approach.  A 
single  glance  was  enough  !  Walton  was  wearied  and 
broken  in  appearance  as  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"Are  we  alone,  Evelyn?"  he  quickly  asked. 

"Certainly!"  said  the  now  thoroughly  alarmed  heiress. 
Her  eye  instinctively  sought  for  a  cordial,  or  his  par 
ticular  case-bottle,  which,  alas,  was  missing!  "What 
has  happened?" 

"Your  mother!"  he  groaned,  with  an  air  of  dejected 
misery,  "I  only  learned  it  in  London!" 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Evelyn,  aroused  by  his  delay. 

"Was  married  a  week  ago,  by  special  license,  in 
London, to  that  half-lackey,  Doctor  Ernest  Rheingold.  " 

Miss  Hartley  walked  quietly  to  the  window  and 
gazed  out  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Turning  slowly, 


174  THE    ANARCHIST 

she  finally  said,  'You  need  rest,  Uncle!  Tell  me  the 
whole  story  to-morrow!"  Her  voice  was  kindly,  but 
even  Walton,  man  of  the  world  in  every  sense,  dared 
not  intrude  longer  on  the  girl's  privacy.  He  nodded 
and  heavily  strode  from  the  room,  leaving  Miss  Hart 
ley  gazing  steadily  at  the  picture  of  her  father,  in  its 
place  upon  the  mantel. 

It  was  in  the  dim  watches  of  the  night  that  sleep 
finally  sealed  her  eyelids,  and  she  forgot  the  unexpected 
disclosure  of  the  disconsolate  old  aristocrat. 

Admiral  Horatio  Walton  was  astounded  at  the  stoic 
composure  of  his  beautiful  niece,  during  the  days 
succeeding  his  return.  Forced  to  mingle  in  the  amuse 
ments  of  the  growing  court  of  the  young  beauty 
imperially  crowned  in  gold,  the  old  sailor  could  not 
induce  Miss  Hartley  to  discuss  her  mother's  strange 
step.  Puzzled  by  the  abrupt  departure  of  Lord  Beau- 
ford,  Walton  betook  himself  to  the  graces  of  Isabel 
Dunham's  presence,  and  adroitly  laid  siege  to  Mrs.  St. 
Leger's  elastic  heart!  The  dignity  of  Evelyn  grew 
into  a  haughty  calm!  It  covered  her  hourly  impa 
tience  to  hear  from  London  as  to  Beauford's  fate  !  In 
her  lonely  hours,  she  felt  a  growing  gratitude  to  Philip 
Maitland,  whose  letter  announced  the  departure  of 
Alfred  Beauford  for  Trieste.  "He  has  promised  to  wait 
at  the  'Croix  de  Malte'  at  Trieste,"  wrote  Maitland, 
"and  I  have  soothed  his  fretfulness  by  promising  to 
go  to  Vienna  and  see  if  I  can  not  shape  my  affairs  to 
go  at  least  as  far  as  Suez  with  him.  The  admiral's 
return  will  brighten  your  circle  up  and  I  shall  rejoin 
it.  The  London  banker's  telegrams  should  precede  my 
arrival.  Announce  it  openly  so  that  I  may  drop  into 
the  circle  unnoted/  It  is  your  only  sure  method  to 
guard  you?  secret  I  Itemsmbif  WattSft  afkf 


THE    ANARCHIST  I 75 

Dunham  surely  know  all  his  affairs,  as  well  as  the 
astute  Stein  !" 

"Surely  the  plan  has  miscarried,"  thought  Evelyn 
Hartley,  as  she  dressed  for  a  maquerade  given  by  the 
most  bewitching  of  Viennese  grande  dames  on  the 
fourth  day  after  Waltons  return,  "Isabel  knows  noth 
ing,  and  Philip  must  await  my  return  from  the  ball, 
for  his  train  is  late!"  The  American  was  bending  her 
fair  neck  to  receive  a  pearl  necklace,  when  the  earnest 
voice  of  Admiral  Walton  was  heard  at  the  door  of  her 
dressing-room. 

"You  must  grant  me  a  moment,  Evelyn!"  he  cried. 
"What  is  it,  Uncle?  Nothing  serious,  I  hope!"  said 
Evelyn,  noting  the  anxious  air  of  the  old  sailor  who 
was  resplendent  as  a  Venetian  Doge. 

"Can  you  give  me  Beauford's  address  at  Trieste?  or 
his  ship?  or  agents  there?'1  The  old  man  was  excited. 
"I  have  two  telegrams,  one  from  his  bankers  and  one 
from  his  solicitors.  He  must  be  found!  He  must 
return  here.  A  special  bank  agent  is  on  the  way  here 
with  a  lawyer's  clerk!  I  must  instantly  forward  them. 
I  shall  leave  the  party  to  Stein  and  Oborski.  I  will 
come  later!" 

Miss  Hartley  .smiled  in  spite  of  her  assumed  con 
cern!  The  campaign  was  then  a  success!  "Perhaps 
Lady  Dunham  could  tell  you!  I  think  I  heard  her 
say  she  expected  a  parting  message.  You  will  find 
her  in  the  salon!  Or  Philip  Maitland,  but  he  only 
comes  in  at  eleven!" 

"I  can  not  wait  for  him!  I  must  see  Lady  Isabel! 
Wait  here!  I  will  return.  This  is  vital  to  Beauford, 
and  may  change  his  plans!" 

As  he  hurried  away  Evelyn  Hartley  sank  into  a 
chair  and  reaped  the  delightful  harvest  of  a  hidden, 
ha  i.i  ess, 


176  THE   ANARCHIST 

The  shimmer  of  satin  and  sheen  of  pearls  came  in 
with  lovely  Isabel  Dunham  as  Amy  Robsart,  and  clasp 
ing  her  new  friend's  hands,  the  happy  woman  cried, 
"Evelyn,  Evelyn!  He  will  come  back!  Thank  God, 
he  did  not  sail  before  this!"  The  fleeting  blus'hes  on 
the  face  of  the  daughter  of  the  Ventnors  told  a  story 
without  words.  "I  shall  be  so  anxious  till  we  get  his 
reply." 

"Probably  you  will  be  relieved  of  this  suspense  when 
we  return  from  the  ball,"  softly  said  Evelyn,  as  she 
caught  up  a  dainty  lace  scarf. 

In  the  salon,  Carl  Stein  eagerly  listened  to  the  anx 
ious  admiral.  "I  should  remain  at  the  Telegraph 
Bureau,  my  dear  Admiral,  if  I  were  you!"  said  the 
anarchist  In  his  heart  of  hearts  he  swore-  "This 
devil's  luck  must  be  turned!  Beauford  to  come  back! 
Some  fortunate  happening!  The  path  must  be  clear 
for  Oborski.  If  he  comes  here,  it  is  to  his  death! 
There  is  no  other  way!  At  this  juncture,  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  millions  would  be  his  salvation!  But  her  money 
must  be  ours!  To  turn  the  scale  and  force  socialism 
in  America  toward  the  boiling  point  of  anarchy!  We 
must  have  gold!  Its  power  alone,  can  give  us  other 
aid  than  the  distinctly  criminal  classes.  There  is  no 
compromise  between  socialism  and  anarchy!  One 
must  swallow  up  the  defeated  creed!  On  this,  hangs 
the  hope  of  a  world!  Will  the  masses  go  far  enough 
under  our  lead?" 

As  he  mused,  Count  Oborski  entered,  magnificent  as 
Sobieski,  and  whispered  with  pallid  lips,  "The 
great  call !  You,  a  mission.  You  are  to  leave  at 
two  o'clock.  I  was  told  that  life  itself  must  be  risked 
to  find  you!" 

"Ah!"  Carl  Stein  drew  his  breath  hard.  "I  can 
leave  the  ball  at  once  I  It  is  well!" 


THE  ANARCHIST  177 

"And  the  rendezvous?  Can  I  aid?"  humbly  whis 
pered  Oborski  to  his  superior.  A  rapid  secret  sign 
told  the  Pole  that  the  quest  was  above  his  grade. 
Mandatory  silence  was  Stein's  grim  signal. 

"But  I  want  you,  on  our  personal  affairs!"  Stein 
muttered.  "This  English  fool  is  perhaps  to  return ! 
Hang  on  the  admiral's  movements!  Pump  him  and 
notify  me  through  .  .  ."  his  voice  sank  to  a  whis 
per.  Oborski  nodded,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  passion. 

"I  will  shoot  the  pig-headed  meddler!" 

"Bah!  no  theater  duels, "  said  Stein.  "Here  the  ladies 
come!  You  would  lose  her  forever!  A  personal  quar 
rel  would  be  ruin!  We  must  have  Caesar  Borgia's 
cunning  at  hand!  Is  she  not  worth  ttf" 

Oborski  sprang  forward,  for  Evelyn  Hartley's  pride 
of  victory  shone  in  her  rapt  ej^es!  She  was  a  god 
dess  of  the  night!  Stanislas  Oborski  forgot  all,  save 
the  infinite  promise  he  fondly  fancied  he  could  read 
in  Miss  Hartley's  glances!  The  daughter  of  Eve  was 
only  waiting  with  beating  heart,  till,  in  a  pause  of  the 
minuet,  three  hours  later,  Admiral  Walton  swept 
up,  a  happy  magnifico.  "Maitland  is  here,  and  I 
have  just  received  Beauford's  dispatch.  He  comes 
to-morrow  night."  Evelyn  Hartley's  smiles  deceived 
the  ardent  Pole,  and  the  dance  went  on,  while  miles 
away  Carl  Stein  plotted  Lord  Beauford's  murder! 


BOOK  III 

AT  CROSS    PURPOSES 

CHAPTER    VIII 

AN      ANONYMOUS     FRIEND — LORD     BEAUFORD     GOES     IN   FOR 

DIPLOMACY THE       ANARCHIST'S        MISSION — DRIFTING — 

BROTHER   PHILIP — COUNT    OBORSKl'S    GAME    OF    SOLITAIRE 

BEAUTIFUL  Miss  Hartley's  eyes  opened  dreamily  next 
day  as  the  bugles  of  a  passing  regiment  of  Lancers 
woke  the  morning  echoes.  The  sunlight  was  stream 
ing  in  at  her  casement  and  the  belle  of  the  masked 
ball  noted  the  wonder  on  her  waiting-maid's  face.  * 

"I  was  afraid  to  waken  you,  Miss  Evelyn,"   said  the 
Abigail,   "and  yet  it  is  after  noon.     Here  is  Mr.  Mait- 
land's    card,     a    telegram,  and    a    bundle    of    letters. 
Admiral  Walton  wishes  to  see  you  as    soon    as    possi 
ble!" 

It  was  only  when  seated  at  her  coffee  that  the  happy 
woman  recalled  the  events  of  the  night.  Her  face  was 
radiant  with  a  secret  satisfaction,  the  glow  of  a  vic 
tory  she  enjoyed  alone.  With  Philip  Maitland  near, 
she  felt  a  new  sense  of  self  reliance  !  The  return  of 
Lord  Beauford  was  certain,  and  in  her  ears  still  mur 
mured  the  delicious  sound  waves  of  the  entrancing 
Viennese  orchestra!  The  pictures  of  the  magnificent 
revel  returned  to  her,  its  kaleidoscopic  changes,  the 
thrill  of  the  murmuring,  swaying  throng,  the  flash  of 

178 


THE    ANARCHIST  179 

jewels,  rich  rustle  of  silks,  and  the  tender  abandon 
ment  of  women's  eyes,  yielding  to  the  voluptuous  self- 
forgetfulness  of  the  night.  The  very  wine  of  life  seemed 
sparkling  in  the  effervescent  pleasure  of  the  maskers! 
A  slight  frown  darkened  her  brow  as  she  caught  the 
full  significance  of  Count  Oborski's  patent  devotion. 
"I  shall  take  a  turn  over  the  Swiss  lakes,  follow  the 
Rhine  down,  and  after  a  glimpse  of  the  Low  countries, 
go  by  Hanover  to  Berlin.  If  we  decide  to  return  to 
Italy,  then  Munich,  and  a  return  visit  here  will. lead 
us  back  to  Rome!  In  the  meantime  the  Count  Oborski 
may  forget,  in  his  military  duties,  his  sudden  predilec 
tion!"  The  eagerness  of  her  ardent  cavalier  was  man 
ifest  in  an  exquisite  offering  of  the  richest  flowers  of 
the  Danube!  As  the  maid  handed  them  in,  the  very 
merriest  of  voices  announced  Lady  Isabel's  morning 
visit  sans  Facon. 

Evelyn  Hartley  noted  the  peculiar  buoyancy  of  Lady 
Dunham's  manner.  It  only  needed  her  avoidance  of 
Beauford's  name  to  confirm  a  conjecture  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  ecstatic  mood  of  the  visitor. 

"I  must  veil  my  connection  with  Beauford's  recall," 
thought  Miss  Hartley.  Dispatching  a  note  to  Philip 
Maitland,  on  the  return  of  her  maid,  she  ventured  a 
careless  remark. 

"As  I  am  going  for  a  walk  with  Mr.  Maitland,  I 
may  not  see  Lord  Beauford.  I  presume  he  returns 
this  evening." 

"He  will  be  here  at  seven,  unless  there  is  delay. 
His  telegram  only  came  an  hour  ago  !  I  shall  not  go 
out!"  replied  Lady  Dunham.  By  accident  noting  the 
flash  of  Evelyn's  eyes,  Isabel  Dunham  rose  blushing^ 
and  sought  safety  in  flight. 

"We  are  such  old  friends,"  murmured  the  fair-haired 
Anglo-Saxon. 


l8o  THE    ANARCHIST 

As  Miss  Hartley  emerged  from  her  retirement,  Ad 
miral  Walton  led  her  to  a  corner  of  the  grand  salon. 
The  old  veteran  had  paced  the  grand  hall  in  impa 
tience,  for  an  hour. 

"Before  you  meet  Maitland,  my  dear  Evelyn,"  he 
began  almost  timidly,  "we  must  consider  our  course 
as  regards  this  marriage.  I  am  very  much  perplexed. 
I  have  held  no  communication  with  my  sister  yet! 
Have  you  decided  upon  your  line  of  action!  Stein 
will  know  at  once!  He  is  in  correspondence  with  this 
Rheingold!  The  others  will  hear  it  as  gossip!" 

"I  will  inform  Mr.  Maitland!"  quietly  answered  Eve 
lyn.  "You  should  speak  of  the  subject  as  you  wish 
to  Lord  Beauford  on  his  return!  The  others  will 
naturally  refrain  from  addressing  me! 

"And  you  have  nothing  to  say  to  your  mother  your 
self?'1  cried  the  perplexed  sailor. 

"I  feel  myself  now  alone  in  the  world,  Uncle!  I 
have  not  a  word  to  say  to  any  one,  even  you!  Pray  do 
not  forget  that  /  bear  the  name  of  Hartley!" 

The  tall  form  of  Philip  Maitland  darkened  the  door 
way  and  the  old  admiral,  nursing  his  discontent  in  a 
chair  placed  in  a  sunny  spot,  saw  the  disappearance 
of  the  two  in  the  crowd  of  merry  promenaders. 

"Caroline  has  cut  the  last  tie  binding  her  to  her 
child !  Respect  might  even  replace  affection,  but  I 
see  breakers  ahead  here!  Evelyn  will  make  her  own 
circle  and  soon  be  lost  to  me!"  Long  after  the  Amer 
icans  were  mutually  enlightened  as  to  the  movements 
since  Maitland's  departure,  the  old  sailor  sat  alone, 
studying  his  chart  of  Life. 

"This  splendid  soldier  looms  up  daily  as  a  suitor! 
He  is  a  picturesque  sort  of  chap  !  with  all  his  stately 
splendor,  I  distrust  the  fellow!"  growled  Walton, 
who  had  an  insular  hatred  of  foreign  alliance. 


THE   ANARCHIST  l8l 

"I  must  advise  with  Stein  when  he  returns !  He 
seems  to  know  Evelyn's  nature  better  than  anyone! 
After  Beauford  has  had  his  say,  I  will  suggest  a  move 
ment!" 

"In  a  sudden  freak,  she  may  return  to  Yankee  land, 
and  I  am  then  ruined  as  far  as  my  influence  goes!" 
Next  to  his  social  comfort  endangered,  the  wary  old 
veteran  saw  a  disappearance  of  the  £.  s.  d.  which 
were  so  freely  handled  by  him  as  cicerone. 

"It  is  your  wish,  then,  that  Beauford  should  not 
divine  in  any  way  to  whom  he  owes  his  mended  fort 
unes,"  earnestly  said  Maitland  as  he  led  the  heiress 
to  a  seat  in  the  park. 

"He  must  not  even  suspect,"  cried  Miss  Hartley.  "I 
rely  on  you,  Philip,  to  guard  the  whole  secret.  You 
will  be  with  him  daily  and  can  keep  me  au  courant!" 

Philip  Maitland's  eyes  met  hers.  They  had  verified 
the  precautions  and  discussed  the  whole  subject.  The 
half  hours  had  passed  in  the  freedom  of  unrestrained 
converse. 

"It  is  time  to  return!"  Maitland  said  gently.  "But 
do  you  not  think  I  am  going  even  beyond  a  brother's 
duty?  Have  I  any  right  to  violate  the  friendly  confi 
dence  of  Beauford?" 

Miss  Hartley  fixed  her  splendid  eyes  on  Maitland  in 
an  enthusiastic  appeal. 

"For  his  sake!  And  for  my  sake — Philip!"  Her 
voice  had  an  unwonted  tenderness. 

"Be  it  so,  Evelyn!  But  you  must  be  guarded.  It 
is  your  duty  to  hold  me  clear  of  responsibility.  I 
shall  ask  Beauford  to  stay  at  my  hotel,  then  his  social 
relations  will  be  entirely  untrammeled!" 

The  friends  were  not  astonished  to  find  Lord  Beau- 
ford  the  center  of  an  eager  circle  on  their  return. 


1 82  THE    ANARCHIST 

"By  Jove!  old  fellow!"  remarked  Lord  Alfred.  "I 
have  some  men  coming  here.  I  have  a  considerable 
mail,  and  a  dispatch  that  a  document  from  the  Foreign 
Office  has  been  forwarded  by  my  bankers!  I  need  a  few 
days  for  business." 

"I  anticipated  that  you  would  like  to  be  with  me! 
I  have  taken  rooms  at  my  hotel  for  you!"  cheerily 
said  Maitland.  "Now  I  claim  you,  for  I  may  run  over 
to  America.  I  am  needed  there." 

Wily  Oborski's  heart  leaped  for  joy  as  Lord  Beau- 
ford  calmly  said:  "I  shall  probably  remain  but  a  few 
days.  I  am  to  take  the  next  vessel  from  Trieste  after 
my  affairs  are  under  way!" 

"Bravo!  It  will  take  *a  serious  task  off  my  hands," 
thought  the  Pole,  as  his  dark,  gleaming  eyes  vainly 
tried  to  read  Beauford's  impassive  face.  "She  will 
be  mine!  I  wish  Stein  were  here!"  He  was  in  the 
dark.  The  departing  anarchist  had  glided  away  as 
mutely  as  a  Jesuit.  Oborski  dared  not  try  to  lift  the 
veil  shrouding  his  superior ! 

He  well  remembered  certain  very  mysterious  happen 
ings  in  that  dark  order,  whose  creed  of  love  and  broth 
erly  trust,  is  enforced  by  the  penalty  of  a  merciless 
death  to  traitors  and  meddlers! 

"But  Beauford's  face  shows  no  passion!  Does  she 
love  him?  La  Belle  Americaine!  Does  she  too  hunt 
a  coronet?  I  could  even  fancy  he  has  a  penchant  for 
the  most  lovely  of  widows !  And  she  is  of  his  own 
order  also!"  Stanislas  Oborski  was  mystified  as  he 
reined  his  splendid  charger  down  the  street  filled  with 
Vienna's  pale,  proud  aristocrats! 

"Now  Beauford,  tell  me  all!"  exclaimed  Maitland, 
earnestly,  as  the  friends  sat  en  petite  comite  after  din- 
ner,  "Do  you  stay  with  us?" 


THE    ANARCHIST  183 

"Phil,  I  am  as  much  in  the  dark  as  you!  Some 
friendly  turn  of  the  tide  may  have  delayed  my  ultimate 
ruin!  *  It  will  soon  be  cleared  up.  The  two  men  ar 
rive  to-morrow.  The  Bank's  agent  and  my  solicitor's 
faithful  man  Wilkins!  They  will  soon  tell  me  all." 

Maitland  started.  He  must  devise  a  plan  to  seal 
the  lips  of  the  man  of  parchments. 

"It  must  be  a  matter  of  the  gravest  importance  to 
warrant  them  in  calling  me  back!"  mused  Lord  Alfred. 

"I  am  sure  the  news  will  be  of  a  stroke  of  lucky 
fortune!"  heartily  said  Maitland  as  they  separated 
for  the  night. 

In  the  friendly  shelter  of  her  rooms,  Isabel  Dunham, 
her  heart  racked  with  impatience,  murmured,  "Why 
do  they  not  act  at  the  Foreign  Office?  My  appeals 
to  Lord  Ventnor,  if  he  has  moved  at  once  should  place 
the  son  of  one  of  England's  greatest  ambassadors  again 
in  the  line  of  distinction!  Yet — even  if  it  be  so,— 
Alfred  must  never  know  of  my  desperate  efforts.  With 
her  lovely  head  pillowed  on  a  rounded  arm,  she  mur 
mured  as  she  slept,  "He  would  not  know  my  heart! 
He  must  not!  His  pride  would  be  a  bar  to  a  future 
offered  by  the  woman  who  did  his  splendid  youth 
wrong!" 

Neither  Maitland,  Lady  Isabel,  nor  noble-hearted 
Evelyn  Hartley  could  read  their  own  hearts  clearly! 
The  future  of  Alfred  Beauford. was  the  uppermost  mat 
ter  in  the  minds  of  these  dissimilar  natures.  Neither 
of  the  young  women  were  calm  enough  to  weigh  the 
gold  of  emotion  with  the  unswerving  standards  of 
reason  !  The  gentle  hands  holding  the  delicate  balance 
throbbed  with  the  pulses  of  rich  womanhood! 

But  Philip  Maitland,  alone  in  his  chamber,  mused 
over  the  Beauford  matter  en  philosophe.  "In  what 


184  THE    ANARCHIST 

does  the  fate  of  a  penniless  peer  outweigh  that  of  a 
struggling  clerk,  a  rising  genius  weighed  down  with 
adversity,  a  poor  inventor,  or  any  other  human  unit?" 
The  serious-faced  American  wrestled  with  this  prob 
lem  in  vain! 

"Is  it  because  he  represents  that  sacred  social  form 
ula,  <The  existing  Order  of  Things/  not  to  be 
rudely  shaken  in  the  time  of  the  Empress  Queen? 
Wherein  has  Hodge  the  duty  to  be  humble,  and  a 
Howard  to  be  magnificent!  Why  does  Tommy  Atkins 
stand  with  his  Brown  Bess  in  the  ranks,  and  face  his 
death  in  silence,and  his  high-born  officer  meet  the  same 
doom,  happy  in  the  golden  tassel  on  his  sword!  Cav 
endish,  Duke  of  Devonshire,  walks  in  Chatsworth  Park 
of  fifteen  hundred  acres,  idle,  and  without  his  walls 
Goodman  Smith  plows,  with  weary  toil  his  acres  to  pay 
rental  to  a  hereditary  lord  !  Is  there  any  foundation 
in  reason  for  rank,  precedence,  private  "  right  in  land, 
and  its  attendant  riches?  Is  there  a  warrant  to  weld 
wealth,  dignity,  power,  and  feudal  right  into  hereditary 
inheritances  for  favored  mortals?"  The  world-worn 
traveler,  thinking  of  the  complex  conservatism  of 
lands  where  the  masses  stand,  cap  in  hand,  before  the 
few,  contrasted  it  with  the  eager  fever  of  the  Amer 
ican  struggle  to  rise  on  pillars  of  gold  above  the  com 
mon  herd? 

The  question  "Is  Aristocracy  lawful?"  puzzled  Mait- 
land,  to  whose  cultured  mind  equality  seemed  not  alto 
gether  desirable!  "Beauford  is  certainly  an  honor  to 
his  patrician  class!  His  retrogression  would  be  a 
particular  disaster  of  moment  to  a  class  accepted  as 
the  leaders  of  English  manhood!  In  America,  as  we 
have  no  rank  to  fall  from,  such  a  change  would  be 
impossible.  Both  systems  seem  to  reflect,  correctly, 
differing  national  types. 


THE    ANARCHIST  185 

"The  only  difference  I  can  see  is  that  the  English 
aristocrats  rank  is  owned  and  cherished  by  all.  The 
community  calmly  accepts  the  gracious  sovereign's 
ennobling  touch!  In  the  United  States  the  success 
ful  plutocrat  makes  his  own  crown,  puts  it  on  himself, 
and  wears  it  in  defiance  of  public  reprobation  or  per 
sonal  envy!  The  intangible  fabric  of  British  civic 
structure  seems  to  be  sacred,  as  a  whole,  to  prince 
and  peasant!" 

Maitland  was  fain  to  absent  himself  from  his  hotel 
with  a  sudden  devotion  to  social  duties,  when  Lord 
Beauford  received  the  bank's  representative,  and 
the  now  eagerly  curious  Mr.  Wilkins.  In  London  law 
circles,  Wilkins  was  now  vaguely  suspected  of  myste 
rious  continental  influence.  His  saddened  face  was 
big  with  new  importance.  It  was  not  by  hazard,  that  he 
received  a  note  from  Maitland  as  he  stepped  from  the 
train.  Its  words  of  delightful  anticipation  were: 

You  are  forbidden  to  recognize  any  one  you  have  seen  at 
Munich.  Before  you  leave,  you  shall  be  pleasantly  enlight 
ened! 

The  American  passed  Mr.  Wilkins  in  the  bustle  of 
arrivals  and  an  exchange  of  glances  ratified  the  com 
pact  of  secrecy! 

"Quite  a  neat  tableau,"  whispered  Philip  to  Evelyn 
Hartley  as  he  surveyed  the  salon  of  the  "Grand  Hotel." 
The  dramatis  personae  were  drawn  together  by  an 
unseen  influence.  "They  will  all  be  sure  we  know 
nothing  of  this  visit  or  its  importance!"  continued 
Maitland. 

"It  is  fortunate,"  smiled  the  heiress,  for  the  light 
comedy  of  tourist  life  went  on  as  usual,  Admiral  Wal 
ton  convoying  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  Count  Oborski,  and 


1 86  THE    ANARCHIST 

several  attendant  nobles  engaging  Lady  Dunham  and 
the  expectant  heiress,  busied  in  knitting  up  her  grow 
ing  friendship  with  Philip  Maitland.  The  experiment 
of  the  lonely  girl  was  nearing  its  crucial  point!  Into 
the  circles,  Professor  Carl  Stein's  return  introduced 
a  future  element  of  restlessness.  Maitland  and  Eve 
lyn  were  uneasy.  "Must  watch  that  fellow!  He's 
designing!"  grumbled  the  admiral,  and  Oborski  vainly 
tried  to  read  in  Stein's  immutable  face  the  secrets  of 
his  mysterious  council. 

No  one  failed  to  notice  the  start  of  astonishment 
with  which  the  scholar  received  Lady  Isabel's  query: 

"Have  you  met  Lord  Beauford  yet  since  his  return, 
Professor?'1 

"I  thought  he  was  on  his  way  to  Australia,"  quickly 
answered  Stein,  with  a  keen  glance  at  Oborski. 

The  count  smiled  sardonically.  "Vienna  seems  to 
please  Milord  !" 

Philip  Maitland  noted  the  steely  glitter  of  the 
Polish  noble's  eye.  "Jealous!"  he  murmured,  "All 
these  continental  grandees  seem  to  be  fortune  hunters!" 

"Pardon,  but  can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Lor^ 
Beauford?"  said  the  Chief  de  Bureau,  approaching 
Miss  Hartley  with  an  obsequious  bow, 

Evelyn  blushed  slightly,  but  her  voice  was  steady 
as  she  answered,  "Mr.  Maitland!  You  may  be  of  use 
to  your  friend." 

"I  have  a  dispatch  for  him  from  the  Foreign  Office, " 
said'  the  functionary,  "sent  from  the  English  Embassy. 
It  is  for  personal  delivery  and  marked  'Immediate!'" 

"I  think  I  will  send  a  coup£  down  for  Beauford.  I 
know  he  is  engaged,  but  this  may  be  of  interest  at  this 
special  moment,"  whispered  Maitland  to  the  heiress. 

Both  of  them  observed  Lady  Isabel's  sudden    inter- 


THE    ANARCHIST  187 

est  in  the  remarks  of  the  clerk.  Maitland  saw  the 
fan  moving  more  quickly  the  fluttering  laces  of  the 
English  beauty's  corsage.  Her  eyes  had  an  eager 
light  in  them.  Evelyn's  eyes  met  his  in  quiet  signifi 
cance. 

When  Philip  returned,  Count  Oborski  and  Professor 
Stein  were  earnestly  whispering  in  a  corner. 

"Beauford  will  be  able  to  have  Her  Majesty's  com 
mand  in  five  minutes  now.  "I  presume  he  will  come 
up,"  said  Philip  lightly,  as  he  gained  a  quiet  moment 
with  his  countrywoman.  Ten  minutes  later  Lord 
Beauford  entered  the  room.  His  usually  pale  face  was 
slighty  flushed,  and  there  was  the  light  of  a  new  life 
in  his  steady  blue  eye.  With  graceful  politeness  he 
saluted  the  ladies  and  pressed  the  hands  of  Admiral 
WTalton.  As  he  stood  under  the  grand  chandelier  a 
nimbus  of  happiness  surrounded  his  stately  head.  The 
direct  query  of  Professor  Stein  was  almost  rough  in 
its  jarring  directness. 

"Do  you  leave  us   soon  for    your  voyage,  my  lord?" 

Alfred  Beauford  gazed  a  moment  steadily  at  the 
questioner. 

"I  may  reconsider  my  departure,  at  least  delay  it  for 
some  time,"  he  answered  with  quiet  coldness,  as  if 
the  gray-eyed  German's  intrusion  was  most  unwel 
come. 

"Can  you  give  me  a  moment,  Maitland,"  said  Beau- 
ford,  turning  to  Miss  Hartley  and  her  escort.  "I  have 
some  people  waiting  my  return — if  Miss  Hartley  will 
kindly  excuse  you!" 

Evelyn  blushed  almost  guiltily,  as  she  bowed  and 
joined  'Lady  Dunham  at  the  piano. 

The  two  friends  descended  the  marble  stairway  and 
Beauford  led  the  way  to  a  retired  table  in  the  cafe". 


1 88  THE  ANARCHIST 

His  manner  was  strangely  excited  as  he  handed  his 
friend  an  open  dispatch. 

"Phil,  old  fellow,  read  that!"  The  nobleman  was 
as  impatient  as  a  boy.  "Tell  me  what  you  know  of 
it!  Who  instigated  it?"  His  eyes  were  keenly  fixed 
on  Maitland,  whose  astonishment  knew  no  bounds! 

It  was  a  carefully  worded  dispatch  from  the  Foreign 
Office,  conveying  the  intelligence  of  his  appointment  as 
an  attach^  of  the  British  Embassy  at  Vienna  and  in 
timating  that  special  and  detailed  instructions  would 
be  furnished  him  by  the  Ambassador  in  person.  Mait 
land  shook  his  head  as  he  returned  it.  "I  congratulate 
you,  Beauford,  from  my  very  heart.  I  am  in  the 
dark!  How  should  I  know  of  this?" 

"Because  there  has  been  some  unknown  and  power 
ful  friend  acting  in  my  behalf!  I  am  puzzled — 
bewildered."  He  clutched  Maitland's  arm.  "I  must 
return  soon.  I  can  tell  you  of  a  wonder  greater  than 
this.  My  bankers  have  mysteriously  effected  the 
arrangement  of  my  money  affairs,  so  that  Jervaux  may 
be  saved!  Can  it  be  the  same  influence?"  his  voice 
trembled.  "I  might  flatter  myself  that  my  father's  serv 
ices  had  gained  for  me  this  official  recognition!  I 
can  not  divine  the  nature  even  of  this  appointment.  But 
the  other,  is  a  concrete  fact.  The  sum  of  eighty  thou 
sand  pounds  has  been  lodged  to  my  credit,  which  will, 
under  a  formulated  plan,  redeem  the  estate  in  twenty 
years  and  leave  me  several  thousand  a  year  as  a  fixed 
income.  The  strangest  part  of  it  all,"  said  Beauford, 
draining  a  glass  of  sherry  in  absent-minded  haste,  "is 
that  I  am  formally  notified  by  the  bank  that  it 
accepts  the  trust  of  this  liquidation  as  agent,  and  that 
my  transaction  goes  no  farther  than  the  execution  of 
such  papers  as  my  solicitors  approve,  with  the  bankers 
as  principal!" 


THE    ANARCHIST  1 89 

"It  is  a  strange  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel!"  mused 
Maitland.  He  hesitated  slightly.  "Do  you  accept 
the  arrangement?" 

"I  have,  as  regards  the  estate,  no  choice  but  accept 
ance  or  ruin!  I  am  assured,"  said  Beauford  anx 
iously,  "that  no  condition  present  or  future,  is  laid  on 
me.  It  is  a  matter  of  pure  investment.  As  regards 
the  Foreign  Office — Her  Majesty's  seal  is  a  guarantee 
of  the  official  regularity  of  the  appointment.  That  is 
an  honor  befitting  my  palmier  days!  It  naturally  calls 
me  to  action  and  to  abandon  my  globe  trotting!  But 
to  whom  do  1  owe  it?"  He  searched  Maitland's  im 
passive  face. 

A  diversion  occurred  to  the  American. 

"Perhaps  Lady  Isabel,"  he  began,  but  ere  he  had 
voiced  his  thought  the  usually  phlegmatic  Briton  had 
vanished.  Maitland  laughed  as  he  finished  his  cup  of 
coffee,  and  slowly  mounted  the  stairway.  As  he  sought 
out  Evelyn  Hartley  from  the  encircling  crowd  of  ar 
dent  Austrians,  Philip  noted  the  flutter  of  Lady  Dun 
ham's  draperies  on  the  portico  and  Beauford's  tall 
form  bending  over  her! 

"I  wonder  if  the  lovely  widow  does  know  anything," 
thought  Maitland  as  Miss  Hartley  artfully  emerged 
from  the  lines  of  her  friendly  besiegers. 

Carl  Stein,  gazing  moodily  at  the  double  disappear 
ance,  muttered,  "What  devil's  foolery  is  this  now? 
He  returns  like  Wallenstein!  Will  no  friendly  sprite 
warn  him  off?  Led  on  by  the  thread  of  the  Fates!  I 
shall  have  to  study  the  drama  and  work  a  scheme  as 
deus  ex  machina. " 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me  quickly!"  whispered  imperi 
ously  Evelyn  Hartley.  "Stein  is  watching  us  nar- 
rowlv!  Has  he  discovered  anything?"  The  friendly 


IQO  THE    ANARCHIST  *> 

conspirators  were  safe  from  eavesdroppers.  Miss 
Hartley  had,  with  a  quick  glance,  caught  the  plotting 
anarchist  off  his  guard. 

"The  banking  arrangement  is  a  success, "  said  Mait- 
land.  "But  stranger  still,  Lord  Beauford  has  suddenly 
received  a  diplomatic  appointment  here,  with  the 
intimation  of  graver  duties  later!  There  is  more  than 
one  good  fairy  in  the  world!  Can  Lady  Dunham  have 
exerted  her  family  influence?" 

Philip  felt  his  companion's  ringers  tighten  upon  his 
arm.  "Then  he  will  stay  here?"  she  said  hastily. 

"For  a  time,  certainly!"  replied  Maitland  gravely. 
It  was  his  turn  to  be  astonished,  for  Miss  Hartley 
said,  "Take  me  in!  Come  and  see  me  to-morrow  after 
noon  and  tell  me  all!  I  shall  leave  Vienna  at  once!" 

"Why?"  said  Maitland,  pausing.  He  noted  the 
agitation  on  her  expressive  face. 

"Because,"  said  Evelyn  Hartley,  "it  would  be  un 
bearable  for  me  to  have  Lord  Beauford  fancy  himself 
under  the  faintest  obligation  to  me!  I  shall  go  to 
Switzerland!  Will  you  not  come?" 

"Women  are  peculiar  creatures!"  ruminated  Mait 
land,  as  he  glanced  at  Beauford  and  Lady  Isabel  in 
the  distance.  "Evelyn  flies  the  very  presence  of  the 
man  whom  her  money  has  called  back  to  her  side!" 

The  light-hearted  American  traveler  was  glad  to  be 
relieved  of  the  "brotherly  duty"  so  lately  engrossing 
him,  and  to  feel  himself  free  to  contemplate  the  suc 
cess  of  Miss  Hartley's  plan  from  a  distance. 

As  he  selected  a  convenient  corner  he  watched  the 
doorway.  Lord  Beauford's  face  was  calm  and  impas 
sive  as  he  parted  from  Lady  Dunham. 

"Come  down  as  soon  as  you  can,  Phil!  I  will  be 
free  in  half  an  hour.  Thanks  for  your  promptness! 


THE    ANARCHIST  IQI 

I  shall  now  stay  in  Europe."  His  words  were  eagerly 
watched  by  the  furtive  Stein  and  Count  Oborski's  spark 
ling  restless  eyes  gazed  on  the  friends. 

"She  knows  nothing!"   said  Maitland. 

"As  much  in  the  dark  as  I  am,"  replied  Beauford, 
as  he  passed  out. 

But  Isabel  Dunham's  heart  was  beating  wildly  as 
she  instinctively  sought  refuge  with  Evelyn  Hartley 
The  wary  women  natures  recognized  that  each  held  a 
part  of  the  golden  secret  of  the  hour  !  Sympathy  and 
distrust  went  hand  in  hand  in  their  relations,  and  each 
was  haunted  with  a  womanly  shrinking  from  discovery! 

Lady  Dunham's  bosom  was  filled  with  a  strange  new 
happiness,  for  Alfred  Beauford  had  told  her  of  his 
strange  advent  into  Her  Majesty's  service. 

"It  is  a  most  singular  piece  of  good-fortune,"  she 
murmured,  "And  you  will  accept?" 

"Most  certainly!'  Beauford  had  answered,  looking 
steadily  into  her  eyes.  "I  have  arranged  my  affairs 
with  my  bankers,  and  I  may  hope  to  keep  Jervaux  in 
the  family.  To  that  end,  I  now  dedicate  my  life." 

Lady  Isabel's  eyes  were  very  kindly  as  she  said  : 
"Dear  old  Jervaux!  It  is  the  one  place  of  the  world 
to  you !" 

Pausing  abruptly,  Beauford  caught  her  two  hands 
impulsively  and  said  brokenly: 

"Isabel I  Tell  me  of  this  friendly  magic!  of  the 
Foreign  Office  matter!" 

"I — I  know  nothing  of  it!"  the  startled  woman  said, 
timidly  releasing  her  hands. 

"You  are  the  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom  I 
would  look  for  the  key  of  the  enigma!  Do  not  spare 
my  pride!  Tell  me'," 

The    gentle    disclaimer     brought    no   conviction    to 


IQ2  THE    ANARCHIST 

Beauford's  heart!  "I  will  see  you  to-morrow — after 
I  have  met  the  ambassador.  We  are  observed.  Let 
us  go  in  !" 

The  tenderness  of  his  tone  lingered  to  thrill  Isabel 
Dunham  in  her  watchful  vigils,  long  after  happy  Eve 
lyn  Hartley's  dark  eyes  closed  in  wonder  at  her 
unknown  friend's  aid  in  rebuilding  Beauford's  fortunes. 
In  her  womanly  weakness  she  dreaded  Beauford's 
knowledge  of  her  action,  yet  fain  would  keep  him  near 
her! 

"When  ne  is  great,  when  he  is  an  ambassador,  when 
he  is  able  to  stand  alone,  and  face  his  brother  peers, 
he  may  know,  but  not  ////  then!" 

Philip  Maitland  and  Lord  Beauford  sat  an  hour  in 
secret  council,  before  the  waning  stars  called  them  to 
rest.  It  is  so  strange  — so  sudden,  Phil!"  measuredly 
said  Beauford,  as  he  returned  from  the  dismissal  of 
his  visitors.  "It  is  most  singular  that  this  dual  arrange, 
ment  permits  me  to  remain  within  hail  of  civilization. 
I  can  make  a  very  respectable  appearance  with  my 
settled  income,  and,  young  as  I  am,  the  path  of  pro 
motion  is  open.  Should  I  live,  I  may  yet  see  Jervaux 
clear  of  debt,  and  leave  an  honored  name  and  a  clear 
estate  to  my  successor." 

"By  the  way,  who  is  he?"   queried  Maitland. 

"Gerald  Molyneux,  of  the  'Rifles,'"  answered  the 
nobleman,  "and  a  right  good  fellow  is  Gerald." 

"But  you  will  marry?"  impulsively  said  Maitland, 
as  he  turned  to  select  a  cigar  with  more  than  ordinary 
deliberation. 

"Probably  not,"  calmly  replied  Beauford/  "I  will 
ask  no  woman  to  share  my  broken  fortunes!  1  would 
not  marry  to  mend  them.  Love  weighed  down  with 
a  wife's  gold!  Never!" 


THE    ANARCHIST  193 

"Make  no  rash  vows,  Beauford,"  said  Maitland 
smiling.  "Remember  Calderon's  sprightly  saying, 
'There  is  no  playing  tricks  with  love!'  At  any  rate, 
old  fellow,  let  me  congratulate  you  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart!  Come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  have  seen 
the  ambassador,  for  I  wish  to  know  of  your  every 
movement.  I  will  hie  me  back  to  America  and  take 
up  the  only  career  possible  there,  —  'making  money'." 

"Why  not  public  life?"   said  Beauford  smilingly. 

"Because  there  is  no  public  career  in  America," 
regretfully  said  Maitland.  "The  general  sense  of  our 
people  is  right.  The  aggregate  voice  of  America  is 
that  of  wisdom!  But  so  quickly  the  floods  of  party 
ascendancy  rise  and  fall,  that  a  representative  man  is  on 
the  top  wave  of  success,  dazzled  and  bewildered,  thrown 
up  far  beyond  his  proper  position,  or  overwhelmed 
.in  the  crushing  depths  of  political  oblivion,  before  his 
record  can  be  fairly  established!  Our  power  is  fairly 
distributed;  but  so  restless,  nervous,  and  mercurial  are 
our  people,  goaded  on  by  an  impassioned  press,  and 
inflamed  by  volcanic  orators,  that  measures  and  policies 
follow  with  lightning  changes.  The  United  States  tries 
every  political  quack  medicine  as  presented.  Thank 
God,  the  patient,  rugged  in  youth,  strong  in  constitu 
tion,  lives!  It  may  be  different  some  day!"  concluded 
Maitland  gloomily. 

"What  do  you  fear?"  said  Beauford,  with   interest. 

"We  worship  only  money!  We  bow  to  concrete  profit! 
We  subordinate  our  lives  to  gain!  Great  fortunes  are 
the  peerages  of  our  land!  The  wo?ship  of  these  golden 
calves  will  produce  an  organized  revulsion  of  popular 
feeling.  Envy  and  demagQgueism  may  bring  about 
a  violent  attempt  at  the  redistribution  of  wealth  with 
us.  The  Populists  and  others,  the  Labor  Unions,  only 


194  THE  ANARCHIST 

seek  to  throw  off  the  burdens  laid  on  the  masses  by 
the  rich!  It  may  be  that  the  wealth  itself  will  be 
attacked  by  the  final  development  of  human  brutality 
and  insanity — The  Anarchist!" 

"I  pay  little  attention  to  anarchy.  In  the  British 
kingdom,  these  brazen-lunged  theorists  are  forced  to 
be  contented  with  a  subdued  open-air  demonstration, 
or  a  joint  braying-match  over  the  rights  of  man,  end 
ing  in  a  ball,"  •  laughed  Beauford.  "Our  English 
blood  is  not  hot  enough  to  be  influenced  by  a  few 
wild-eyed  loafers,  who  prate  of  natural  right,  reform, 
and  an  ideal  community,  and  never  effect  anything 
beyond  their  wild  invocation  of  the  spirit  of  discord ! 

"In  France,  Germany, Russia, or  Italy,these  midnight 
plotters  rise  to  the  dignity  of  conspirators.  They  will 
always  remain  on  the  level  of  the  vagrant  in  England, 
and  be  promptly  collared  by  a  'Bobby,'  or  ducked  in  the 
nearest  pond!  It  may  be  that  the  United  States  will 
open  a  field  to  the  apostles  of  the  higher  life  and  soiled 
linen!  When  I  see  an  anarchist  who  has  sufficient 
self-respect  to  keep  reasonably  clean,  in  life  or  person, 
I  may  listen.  Up  to  that  unreached  epoch,  I  merely 
hold  my  nose  and  turn  away!  They  have  had  unbounded 
chances  to  practically  set  up  communities  and  prove, 
in  action,  either  the  peacefulness  or  advantages, 
physical  and  moral,  of  the  new  system,  but  from  Ros 
seau  and  Proudhon  to  the  last  sneaking  bomb  handler, 
their  practical  efforts  have  been  abject  failures.  The 
Commune  of  Paris  could  not  control  itself t  and  would 
have  starved  to  death  in  the  inanition  of  speculative 
laziness,  if  not  scattered  by  force  !  The  kitchen  larders 
of  the  useful  bourgeoisie  exhausted,  these  God-gifted 
men  had  only  their  speeches  to  live  on!  The  anar 
chist  seems  to  dread  one  thing  more  than  the  most 


THE   ANARCHIST  195 

hated  form  of  tyranny!"  vigorously  cried  Beauford,  in 
closing. 

"And  that  is?"  said  Maitland,  smiling. 

'Any  form  of  useful  or  productive  work!"  triumph 
antly  added  Lord  Beauford.  "That  certainly  appalls 
them!  My  only  fear  for  America  is  your  national 
excitability  and  remarkable  fondness  for  religious  and 
political  'crankism!'  You  good-humoredly  tolerate,  to 
a  certain  extent,  almost  anything  in  the  United  States!" 
continued  Beauford. 

"Nothing  would  astonish  me  as  happening  in  your 
'go-as-you-please'  country,  but  there  is  a  stratum  of 
tough  backbone  to  you,  after  all!" 

"Precisely!"  said  Maitland,  his  eyes  kindling,  "We 
have  allowed  numberless  experiments  from  practical 
free-love  down  to  compact  autonomies,  of  foreign  resi 
dents!  We  have  thrown  our  doors  open  to  the  filth 
and  scum  of  Europe!  We  have  cheapened  the  getting 
of  American  citizenship  so  that  it  is  hardly  worth 
individual  asking!  But  when  anarchy,  organized,  lays 
its  hand  on  property,  our  millions  of  wage-earners 
will  remember  the  years  of  toil  and  self-denial  repre 
sented  in  their  homes,  their  savings,  and  the  great 
institutions, — the  joint  product  of  capital  and  labor. 
When  the  torch  is  applied  by  irresponsible  alien  fanat 
ics,  when  the  bomb  of  the  coward  sheds  innocent 
blood  in  our  midst,  the  stern  vengeance  of  our  outraged 
citizens  will  ring  through  the  world,  and  terrify  the 
fiends  who  prey  on  the  passions  of  the  ignorant,  and 
rule  the  fool  by  fraud  or  fear!" 

"There  need  be  no  grim  parade  of  La  Roquette's 
guillotine  or  our  American  Ravachols  and  Vaillants! 
Once  let  the  cowards,  skulking  under  the  red  flag, 
openly  attack  civil  order  in  the  United  States,  our 


196  THE   ANARCHIST 

citizens  will  vigorously  and  effectively    blot  them  out, 
without  expense  for  rope!" 

"But  they  will  need  a  lesson!  A  terrible  one,  even 
in  the  United  States, and  the  few  scoundrels,  mouthing 
their  dark  threats  of  rapine  and  indiscriminate  murder, 
will  find,  in  startled  surprise,  that  the  rich  and  pros 
perous  will  leap  to  arms  in  defense  of  what  thrift  and 
industry  has  given  them  !  Courage  and  nerve  does  not 
necessarily  lie  only  under  the  beer-stained  rags  of  an 
imported  human  drone.  There's  a  bit  of  the  blood  of 
Spottsylvania  and  Gettysburg  left  in  the  North!  In 
the  South,  the  nerve  and  broad-community  character 
which  held  the  gray-coated  Confederates,  unflinching 
in  their  shot-torn  ranks,  through  five  years  of  a  hope 
less  war,  will  avail  them  to  master  the  foreign  hydra! 

Pm  a  Northern  man!"  cried  Maitland,  waxing  enthu 
siastic,  "but  I  honor  the  undoubted  Americanism  of 
the  South!  There's  not  a  nation  in  Europe  that  could 
carry  its  flag  to-day  over  the  eleven  States  where  the 
Stars  and  Bars  kissed  the  battle  breeze,  even  if  we 
of  the  North  stood  aloof! 

"Thank  God!  we  will  stand  in  the  future,  shoulder 
to  shoulder — we  have  nailed  the  old  stars  together 
with  new  ones!" 

"In  other  words,you  draw  the  conclusion  that  anarchy 
will  not  flourish  in  the  English-speaking  lands?  You 
have  to  thank  us  for  a  bit  of  the  Anglo  Saxon  phleg 
matic  staying  power,  after  all,  Maitland!  Anarchy  is  a 
continental  political  mange.  It  will  never  flourish  in 
either  England  or  America,  and  woe  be  to  those  to  fit? 
their  coat  to  our  shoulders!" 

"I  agree  with  the  ambassador!"  said  Phil  Maitland, 
smiling,  as  he  rose  to  bid  the  happy  Englishman  "good 
night"  It  was  a  simple  hand-grasp,  but  it  was  sig- 


THE  ANARCHIST  IQ7 

nificant  of  a  union  of  hearts  across  the  sea  in  the  con 
servation  of  all  that  makes  life  dear,  or  holds  an 
honest  home  together! 

Miss  Evelyn  Hartley  found  Philip  Maitland  a  restive 
guest  during  the  sunny  hours  of  the  afternoon, 
while  the  American  waited  for  Beauford's  return  from 
the  Embassy.  The  Western  beauty  was  ready  to  leave 
Vienna  for  the  presence  of  Beauford  incited  Admiral 
Horatio  Walton  to  vain  conjecture  as  to  the  future  of 
Jervaux  Priory,  and  the  final  career  of  the  sister,  whose 
estranged  daughter  was  his  ward.  The  old  sailor  was 
astounded  at  the  resolution  with  which  Miss  Hartley 
plotted  out  her  future  path  in  life.  "Of  course,  my 
dear  uncle,  I  have  open  to  me  a  return  to  Cleveland, 
and  Judge  Fox  will  arrange  my  household  so  as  to 
meet  your  perfect  satisfaction.  I  am  ready  to  go  home 
at  once!"  The  loss  of  the  swelling  state  in  which  he 
now  shone  would  have  been  a  crushing  blow  to  Wal 
ton.  He  murmured,  yielded,  and  found  that  the  reins 
of  power  had  passed  into  the  shapely  white  hands  of 
the  girl.  The  earnest  light  of  her  brave  young  eyes 
was  as  dauntless  and  unflinching  as  an  eagle  gazing 
at  the  sun.  David  Hartley's  proud,  unconquerable 
spirit,  was  as  sure  a  legacy  as  the  tender  lines  read  in 
the  later  days  giving  his  last  council. 

"Lord  Beauford,"  was  the  announcement  of  the 
lackey,  waking  Evelyn  and  Philip  from  a  colloquy  of 
the  distant,  yet  beloved,  American  home,  as  the  newly 
fledged  diplomat  entered,  his  face  bright  with  the 
sunshine  of  the  hour. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  here,  Miss  Hartley,"  he 
began,  "for  I  am  obliged  to  be  absent  a  few  days.  My 
duties  begin  at  once.  I  have  a  little  matter  of  business 
on  which  to  confer  with  you  at  once." 


igl  THE 

'  I  'vill  teke  *>  tern  on  the  portico,  remarked  Malt- 
lar  i.  eager  to  gain  the  last  detail.  He  nodded  to  Beau- 
for  J  and  disappeared  adroitly. 

Miss  Hartley  was  alone  with  her  unconscious  pro 
tege.  Her  heart  beat  a  shade  more  quickly  than  its 
wont,  when  the  Englishman  earnestly  said: 

"1  trust  you  will  pardon  me  for  speaking  to  you, 
on  a  subject  concerning  yourself  alone,  but  my  time 
is  short." 

Evelyn  Hartley's  cheek  was  pale.  Was  it  a  chance 
discovery?  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  in  repressed 
emotion,  but  her  voice  was  steady  as  she  calmly  said, 
"Proceed,  Lord  Beauford,  I  am  ready  to  hear  you." 

With  frank  directness  he  said,  "By  strange  good- 
fortune  I  have  been  enabled  to  retain  legal  control  of 
my  estates.  I  have  an  application  for  a  five  years' 
extension  of  the  lease  of  your  mother,  under  which  she 
resides  at  Jervaux.  May  I  ask  if  you  personally  desire 
to  use  the  Priory  as  a  residence?  It  might  alter  my 
ideas  as  to  the  tenancy." 

The  girl  breathed  a  sigh  of  happy  relief.  "I  have 
no  wishes  to  express  in  the  matter,  Lord  Beauford. 
My  plans  include  only  a  tour  of  the  Continent  and 
return  to  my  American  home.  I  have  no  present  inten 
tions,  in  fact  none  whatever  of  sharing  the  occu 
pancy  of  Jerva'ux. " 

Beauford  rose  with  embarrassed  constraint.  He 
quickly  noted  the  coldness  of  her  manner,  "That  ends 
the  Foreign  Doctor's  reign  at  the  Priory, "  he  resolved, 
as  he  withdrew  to  join  Maitland.  "I  shall  meet  you 
before  your  departure  for  Switzerland,  as  I  am  only 
going  to  Paris  on  legation  business,"  was  his  adieu. 

"It's  all  right,  Phil!"  said  Beauford  joyfully,  as  he 
rejoined  his  friend.  "I  am  named  here  on  special 


THE  ANARCHIST  IQ9 

duty,  with  a  hint  of  future  employment  in  the  East,  and 
my  two  visitors  leave  for  London  to-night.  The  final 
papers  will  be  sent  to  me  at  Paris,  where  I  am  sent. 
I  am  to  have  a  few  months  of  novitiate  and  a  post  will 
be  offered  me  of  a  politico-geographical  importance." 

"I  must  smuggle  Wilkins  this  hundred-pound  note 
of  Miss  Hartley's  !"  thought  Maitland.  "Ah, yes;  Beau- 
ford's  man  can  take  it!  Just  the  fellow!" 

"See  here,  Maitland,  I've  to  say  good-bye  to  Lady 
Isabel.  Now,  I  claim  you  for  a  last  dinner  before  my 
diplomatic  entree  into  public  life.  Meet  me  at  the 
hotel.  " 

As  they  re-entered  the  salon,  Stanislas  Oborski  and 
Carl  Stein  were  the  first  to  publicly  congratulate  Lord 
Beauford.  His  surprised  air  amused  Oborski.  "My 
dear  Lord  Beauford,  nothing  escapes  the  fair  chatter 
boxes  of  Vienna.  Your  table  will  be  strewn  with 
invitations  for  the  Clubs,  all  know  of  your  appoint 
ment.  I  hail  you  as  a  'lion*  of  the  winter  season!  ' 

Yet,  when  the  strange  associates  were  alone,  as  a 
mute  signal  from  Stein  called  the  impetuous  wooer 
to  a  council,  Oborski  snarled:  "Curse  this  titled  fool! 
Anchored  here  now,  in  the  very  central  circle  of  our 
field  of  action.  Fate  throws  him  across  my  path  again. 
But  I  will  have  your  advice!  Your  help!" 

"Not  so!"  answered  Stein.  "The  time  presses!  I 
do  not  wish  to  give  you  my  last  directions  in  this 
now.  I  leave  in  a  few  days  for  America,  I  shall  stop 
in  England  and  visit  Rheingold  on  .  .  .  ."  He 
made  a  sign  which  startled  the  angry  Pole. 

"Is  this  fellow  who  married  the  mother  one  of  us?" 

"Precisely,"  said  Stein,  with  reserve.  "The  mother's 
ample,  fortune  will  be  drawn  on  for  our  purposes,  in 
time.  But  I  know  this  proud  and  spirited  girl!  Recon- 


2OO  THE  ANARCHIST 

ciliation  is  impossible!  In  fact,  it  is  better  for  you 
and  I  it  should  be  so!  I  go  now  under  orders  of  the 
Executive  Council  to  a  secret  conference  with  the 
most  advanced  leaders  of  anarchy  in  the  United  States. 
There  is  much  discontent  there.  Finance,  tariff,  and 
depression,  with  a  growing  army  of  tramps  and  mal 
contents.  If  I  can  be  assured  of  the  fitness  of  the  time 
—general  demonstrations  of  unrest,  political  revolts, 
and  even  carefully  shielded  use  of  the  torch  and  bomb, 
may  enable  us  to  draw  out  our  friends,  to  throw  the 
unemployed  masses  against  the  rich,  and  to  open  the 
conflict  1" 

"Why  this  haste?"  eagerly  asked  Oborski. 
"Because,"  replied  the  cool  German  savant,  "it  is 
only  in  the  embittered  days  of  great  depression  that 
we  can  hope  to  overturn  the  money  power  in  the 
United  States.  Prosperity  is  a  golden  chain  riveting 
the  happy  slave  to  his  puffed-up  master.  The  time  is 
propitious!" 

"And  the  grave  issue  on  the  Continent?  Is  my  coun 
try  to  bleed  always  under  the  iron  heel  of  the  Rus 
sian?"  said  Oborski. 

"You  narrow  the  field,  Count,  with  youruracial  com 
plaint!  It  is  the  whole  manhood  of  the  world  which 
calls  for  anarchy's  general  light!  Bakunin's  harshest 
theory  of  the  personal  destruction  of  individual  sov 
ereigns,  and  mere  repeated  violence  would  leave  the 
modern  anarchist,  like  Anacharsis  Clootz,  simply 
madly  demanding  the  wreck  of  creeds,  codes,  countries, 
and  craving  unmeaning  bloodshed.  He  lost  his  head 
under  the  guillotine  by  insensate  raving.  We  must 
have  a  general  change  before  we  can  mete  out  sweep 
ing  punishment.  We  must  gain  the  power  to  sentence, 
before  we  proceed  to  execution.  Owr  acts  must  not 


THE  ANARCHIST  Sot 

have  the  stain  of  individual  murder  on  them.  Let  us 
free  one  country,  then  the  light  will  flash  from  land 
to  land!  Now,  1  will  be  absent  for  several  months. 
If  you  hope  to  rise  to  the  higher  Council,  I  charge 
you,  I  care  not  how,  to  bind  this  woman  in  the  chains 
of  love  and  passion.  She  is  essential  to  us!  The 
safety  of  her  name,  of  her  position,  the  help  of  her  fort 
une — we  need  all!  You  can  safely  rise  to  the  highest 
power  in  the  United  States  as  her  titled  and  aristo 
cratic  husband.  You  can  gain  the  secrets  of  politics — 
you  can  watch  the  rich  in  their  unguarded  homes, 
you  can  pass  safely  over  the  world,  secure  in  }'our 
rank  and  wealth  as  our  agent,  ambassador,  our  general ! 
It  is  a  glorious  career!  You  can  be  the  Sobieski  of 
anarchy!  You  must  enslave  this  woman!  Watch  this 
English  lord.  You  know  how  to  invoke  the  help  of  the 
order!  Davidoff  will  give  you  the  final  sanction!  I 
shall  know  of  your  every  movement!  You  must 
remove  this  haughty  noble!  I  leave  the  task  to  you!  I 
have  a  spy  watching  her  trustee  in  America,  a  man  in 
his  service.  If  the  old  man  were  to  die,  we  are  nearer 
the  goal.  And  now — " 

The  two  scoundrels  finished  their  plotting  with  lips 
fearful  of  the  rustling  echoes  of  the  whispers  of  mur 
der  they  framed! 

In  merry  abandon,  the  days  drifted  on.  Lord  Beau- 
ford  lingered  at  Paris,  and  Carl  Stein  was  prudently 
conferring  at  the  nearest  market  town  with  Ernest 
Rheingold,  the  smooth  dissembler,  whose  years  of  wary 
servitude  had  gained  him  the  mastery  of  Caroline 
Hartley's  purse-strings.  When  Carl  Stein  landed  at 
New  York  for  the  first  time,  a  fund  of  their  enemy's 
gold  filled  the  coffers  of  the  wavering  conspirators  in 
America.  It  was  a  foretaste  of  power,  of  the  tyranny 


202  THE   ANARCttlSf 

exerted  by  a  vigorous  mind  over  mean  and  servile 
intellects  which  made  Stein  the  central  figure  of  anar 
chistic  energy  in  the  United  States.  At  gay  Vienna, 
drifting  daily  into  closer  communion,  there  was  not  a 
day  when  "Brother  Philip,"  lingering  by  the  side  of 
beautiful  Evelyn  Hartley  did  not  reproach  himself  for 
his  dolce  far-niente.  His  heart  refused  to  aid  his 
reason  in  answering  the  question  he  dared  not  ask  him 
self,  "Is  this  love  or  am  1  only  'Brother  Philip'?" 

"So!  Milord  Beauford  returns  to-morrow,"  mu_ed 
the  magnificent  Oborski,  as  he  sipped  a  petite  verre  in 
his  favorite  corner  at  the  club.  The  letters  of  Carl 
Stein  left  him  no  doubt  as  to  the  dread  responsibility 
of  his  position.  "This  woman  must  not  escape  us,  she 
must  be  ours!  Act — and  act  if  possible  alone!  I  shall 
deal  my  stroke  here  later  when  I  hear  from  you!  Noth 
ing  shall  stand  between  me  and  these  millions  des 
tined  to  our  cause." 

With  a  gloomy  brow,  Oborski,  whose  teeming  brain 
was  fertile  in  invention,  deliberately  addressed  him 
self  to  a  game  of  solitaire.  One  course  (a  hackneyed 
one  in  continental  circles)  was  before  him  ever.  A 
duel!  It  might  cause  too  much  eclat!  The  hated 
rival  was  a  diplomat  now — a  personage  under  inter 
national  comity  !  It  might  estrange  Evelyn,  whose 
ardent  nature  was  impressed  by  the  romantic  Polish 
patrician.  Another  secret  plan  occurred!  "Let  Fate 
decide,"  he  muttered.  "The  secret  plan  wins,"  he 
said.  "Three  runs!  //  shall  be  done!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

LORD  BEAUFORD'S  DILEMMA — JUDGE   WILKINSON   FOX    IN 
VITES  A  JEREMIAD A   MOTHER'S   HATRED LADY     ISABEL 

SEES   THE   LIGHT  COMING   SHADOWS — A   FREE    FIELD — THE 
COUNT  OBORSKI   SPEAKS 

"STRANGE  irony  of  Fate — that  I  should  retrace  the 
path  by  which  Isabel  Dunham  has  wandered  back  to 
meet  me!  That  she  should  stray  alone  under  the  oaks 
of  Ventnor  and  /  beneath  banyan  and  palm  in  far 
India!  Have  I  aught  to  say  before  I  go?"  Lord  Beau- 
ford  was  a  changed  man  as  he  walked  the  deck  of  the 
boat  darting  forward  over  the  blue  Bodensee.  The 
steamer  seemed  to  swim  suspended  between  blue  sky, 
and  the  brilliant  depth  of  the  sapphire  lake.  All  the 
nerved  elasticity  of  the  young  noble  urged  him  for 
ward  on  his  path.  He  was  the  depositary  of  a  state 
secret — a  knight  going  out  alone  to  battle  for  Eng 
land's  future  control  in  the  East. 

From  the  English  ambassador  at  Paris, he  had  learned 
the  secret  of  his  appointment.  A  former  viceroy  of 
India,  the  noble  Earl  clearly  set  forth,  in  a  secret  inter 
view,  the  desires  of  the  Foreign  Office.  A  burning 
agitation  as  to  British  and  Russian  rights  in  the  Pamirs 
was  exciting  Her  Majesty's  government. 

The  wily  Russian  adventurers,  travelers,  and  spies 
thronged  the  Court  of  Persia  and  were  swarming  over 
India.  The  mysteriously  veiled  game  of  Russian  aggres 
sion  was  being  played  under  the  very  eyes  of  the 

203 


204  ttiE    ANARCHlSf 

Indian  government.  Beauford  recalled  the  last  words 
of  the  ambassador.  "You  have  a  difficult  part,  a  danger 
ous  game  to  play!  Let  no  other  thought  but  your 
mission  occupy  your  mind  for  a  moment  until  you 
have  made  your  final  report  in  London.  The  gravity 
of  the  issue  is  proven  when  I  tell  you  it  may  determine 
peace  or  war!  Your  face  and  history  is  unfamiliar  to 
the  local  Russian  agents.  As  a  traveler,  sportsman, 
and  man  of  rank,  your  presence  is  easily  explained  by 
the  search  for  big  game  which  has  covered  many  a  secret 
mission!  Your  well-known  character  and  fitness,  your 
distinguished  father's  loyalty  to  the  crown,  have  led 
to  your  selection.  But  one  man  can  be  trusted  to 
evade  the  watchful  muscovites.  Your  route  from  the 
Pamir  plateau  down  the  Oxus  to  Khiva,  thence  to 
Teheran,  and  by  Damascus  and  Beyrout  to  Constanti 
nople  will  be  a  solitary  one.  The  viceroy  will  give 
you  the  final  cipher  instructions.  You  will  be  rushed 
by  rail  to  the  frontier,  and  with  but  one  follower,  a 
plain  English  servant,  you  must  thread  mountain  and 
desert.  The  amplest  financial  assistance  will  be  given 
by  the  viceroy  and  the  British  ambassador  at  Constanti 
nople,  who  will  report  in  cipher  your  arrival  there — 
nothing  more.  You  will,  after  reporting  to  him,  take 
the  'flyer*  for  London,  and  your  hiemorized  and  syste 
matic  report  on  Russian  preparation  and  advances 
must  be  made  up  in  London  without  a  note!  In  case 
of  success  a  diplomatic  post  of  honor  awaits  you. 
Should  you  perish  in  this  venture,  it  is  a  solitary 
leading  of  a  forlorn  hope  for  England!  As  for  failure — 
I  do  not  expect  that  of  your  race  and  your  father's 
son!  Your  return  to  Vienna  will  throw  off  the 
mouchards  of  Russia's  four  central  secret  police  sta 
tions  in  continental  Europe.  From  Vienna  you  must 


THE    ANARCHIST  205 

quietly  disappear,  leaving  as  if  for  a  day.  Catching 
the  P.  &  O.  at  Brindisi,  you  are  to  be  watchfully 
silent  until  you  meet  the  viceroy  in  person." 

"To  whom  shall  I  say  adieu?"  deliberated  Lord 
Beauford.  "I  shall  grasp  Phil  Maitland's  hand.  I  can 
trust  Isabel  and — and  Miss  Hartley. "  Alfred  Beauford 
pondered  the  question  of  his  parting  from  the  noble 
American  girl,  while  the  hours  passed  as  he  neared 
Vienna.  "She  seems  an  embodiment  of  the  young  life 
of  the  West — bright,  brave,  and  true!  How  nobly  she 
devoted  herself  to  Maitland!  There  is  the  royal  seal 
of  womanhood  on  her  glorious  brows !  To  see  her 
nature  unfold  in  its  perfection,  to  go  hand  in  hand 
with  her  through  life,  would  alone  ennoble  a  man !  And 
I  may  not  meet  her  again.  If  it  were  not  for  her  mill 
ions,  I  might  ask  her  to  hear  what  another  perhaps 
may  use  as  the  golden  key  to  her  heart! 

"No!  There  is  no  place  now  in  my  bosom  for  love! 
To  serve  England,  to  save  my  old  acres  from  the 
spoiler,  this  must  be  my  duty.  And  Isabel — am  1 
under  a  new  bond  to  her?  Do  I  owe  this  'essay  peril 
ous',  to  her  womanly  influence.  I  dare  not  tell  her, 
for  hawk-eyed  Walton  would  force  the  truth  piece 
meal  from  her  lips.  I  must  seal  my  lips.  If  I  do  not 
come  back  in  honor  and  success  from  distant  Pamir, 
the  story  of  my  life  is  closed!  If  I  do,  I  will  have 
a  station  to  offer  to  some  other  woman  who  may  walk 
by  my  side  in  happier  days!"  Beauford's  fancy  recalled 
the  earnest,  dark-eyed  American  face,  glowing  in  life's 
ambrosial  morning,  and  yet,  the  trembling  fingers  of 
Isabel  Dunham  seemed  to  tighten  once  more  on  his 
arm ! 

The  voices  of  two  eager  voyagers  caught  his  atten 
tion  as  the  train  halted  ten  miles  from  Vienna,  The 


2O6  THE    ANARCHIST 

dusk  of  evening  was  dropping  deeper  shades  over  plain 
and  forest.  He  could  not  see  their  faces,  but  the 
haughty,  refined  insolence  of  their  tone  indicated  the 
pleasure-loving  Viennese  noble,  returning  from  a 
day's  hunting. 

"Lucky  fellow!  Oborski!     A  cavalry  brigade,  a  sep 
arate  command — what  a  signal  favor  of  the  Emperor! 
And  he  will  marry  the  many-times    millionaire  Amer 
ican  beauty!     Is  it  a  fact?" 

"My  dear  Rudolph!  Nothing  is  sure  where  a  woman 
is  concerned!  'Souvent  femme  varie!'  But  Stanislas 
is  'aux  petits  soins. '  He  was  her  cavalier  at  the 
masked  ball.  They  are  a  princely  couple.  After  all, 
you  know,  he  is  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  Croatia 
and  Poland." 

"I  was  told  at  the  club,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "an 
English  lord  was  the  happy  man.  The  new  attache, 
Beauford,  I  think." 

"Bah!  He  is  a  penniless  peer,  and  one  of  these 
wooden  Englishmen.  He  cannot  be  named  in  the 
race  with  Oborski,  who  has  a  splendid  estate!" 

"True!"  replied  the  second  huntsman.  "But  Stanislas 
has  piled  on  the  debts,  both  for  his  mad  social  extrav 
agances,  and  his  affiliation  with  Polish  agitation.  I 
wonder  even  that  the  Emperor  gives  him  a  brigade!" 

"All  is  anti -Russian  now!  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a 
thief,  you  know!  But  I  pity  the  woman  who  links 
her  fate  to  that  of  the  magnificent  Oborski.  He  is 
headlong  as  a  fallen  angel!" 

Beauford's  steady  blue  eye  burned  in  hostile  rage, 
as  he  sprang  from  the  train  at  the  station  where  Mait- 
land  waited  him.  "By  heaven!  That  adventurer  shall 
never  call  Evelyn  Hartley  wife!"  he  swore  between 
his  teeth- 


THE    ANARCHIST  2O7 

And  yet  the  barrier  of  Fate  was  between  them! 

"Phil,  dear  old  fellow!"  cried  the  Englishman,  "you 
are  the  one  person  to  whom  I  can  trust  my  affairs 
here.  Jump  in  this  coupe  and  listen  while  I  am  on 
my  way  to  the  Embassy.  I  wish  you  to  be  my  ambas 
sador  to  the  ladies.  Hobson, "  he  turned  to  his  steady- 
eyed  man  of  all  work,  "settle  all  and  pack  every 
thing.  I  leave  for  Brindisi  to-morrow."  The  unmoved 
valet  caught  every  accent  of  Beauford's  whisper  and 
was  off  like  a  flash.  North  Polar  jaunts,  tropic  jung 
les,  the  desert,  or  American  frontier  wastes,  no  path  of 
life  could  lift  an  eyebrow  of  the  cool  man  who  was 
Beauford's  shadow. 

"Now,  what  lark's  the  guvnor  up  to  now?"  muttered 
Hobson.  "I  ope  as  how  its  Injy.  There's  a  good  lay 
off  on  the  P.  O.  No  bloomin'  way  stations!  It's  all 
one  anyhow,  as  we've  an  unlimited  ticket,  that's  wot 
we  have!" 

As  the  coupe*  swiftly  neared  the  "Grand  Hotel,"  Beau- 
ford  finished  his  simple  story.  "You  alone  will  have 
my  address,  Phil.  The  F.  O.  will  forward.  But  I 
must  have  absolute  silence  to  even  conjectural  follow 
ing.  Will  you  kindly  request  Miss  Hartley  to  give 
me  a  moment  to  say  good-bye,  as  I  shall  not  come  to 
the  Hotel  to-night?  And — "  his  voice  hesitated,  "You 
must  be  sure  to  ask  Lady  Isabel  not  to  fail  to  await 
me.  My  departure  must  be  kept  secret.  After  I  take 
leave  of  Miss  Hartley,  I  will  wait  on  the  portico  for 
Lady  Dunham.  I  particularly  desire  to  avoid  Admiral 
Walton.  Then  you  must  give  me  every  minute 
until  I  am  gone,  for  we  may  not  meet  again.  I  shall 
send  Hobson  away  with  the  things  and  you  and  I 
can  drive  away  from  our  hotel  and  catch  the  train  at 
the  rampart  station,  as  if  going  for  an  outing.  Here 
you  are!  I'll  meet  you  at  our  hotel," 


208  THE    ANARCHIST 

"Count  on  me  for  anything,"  said  the  astonished 
Maitland.  "Your  new  calling  seems  to  be  both  excit 
ing  and  mysterious!" 

"So  it  is — decidedly!"  soberly  exclaimed  Beauford 
as  Philip  sprang  out  at  the  nearest  corner. 

Maitland  found  Lord  Beauford  an  hour  later  stand 
ing  in  the  midst  of  an  extempore  breastwork  of  lug 
gage,  essentials  and  non-essentials.  Bright-faced  Hob- 
son  was  reducing  the  chaos  to  order. 

"Maitland!  I'll  leave  all  this  impedimenta  here,  and 
a  week  after  I  leave,  the  Embassy  dispatch  agents  will 
remove  all  quietly.  Now,  if  you  will  refuse  admit 
tance  to  everyone,  I'll  rejoin  you  in  an  hour.  Can  I 
count  on  you?" 

"Absolutely!"  said  Philip,  as  he  resigned  himself  to 
the  comforts  of  pipe  and  easy-chair. 

Miss  Evelyn  Hartley,  in  carriage-dress,  awaited 
Lord  Beauford's  visit.  "I  am  glad  to  have  seen  him," 
murmured  Evelyn,  "before  my  Swiss  tour.  We  may 
not  meet  again  for  months.  Has  he  discovered  any 
thing?  Once  en  route,  I  am  safe  from  his  honest  ques 
tioning  eyes.  "  With  a  quick  glance,  the  heiress  sat 
isfied  herself  that  they  were  alone  in  the  great  salon, 
as  Lord  Beauford  was  ushered  in.'  His  manner  was 
unusually  constrained,  and,  hat  in  hand,  he  began  a 
formal  interview. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  daring  to  detain  you,  Miss  Hart 
ley,  but  I  could  not  leave  without  informing  you,  as 
it  might  possibly  have  some  faint  interest  for  you, 
that  I  have  leased  Jervaux  Priory  for  a  period  of  years 
to  Lord  Derwentwater.  In  going  away  for  some  time, 
1  feel  that  I  should  bid  you  farewell.  I  am  obliged  to 
ask  you  kindly  to  keep  the  fact  of  my  departure  in 
absolute  confidence.  I  depart  on  public  business,  and  I 


THE    ANARCHIST  209 

hope  I  am  not  indiscreet  in  asking  your  kindly  silence. 
I  shall  always  feel  a  newer  respect  for  womanhood  in 
thinking  of  your  noble  aid  in  bringing  Maitland  back 
from  shadow-land!  We  part  as  friends,  do  we  not?"  He 
had  risen  and  his  hand  was  extended. 

"Surely  I  shall  see  you  again,  Lord  Beauford?"  the 
startled  woman  cried,  "This  is  not  a  last  farewell?" 

"I  go  into  strange  paths,  it  will  be  months  before  I 
shall  be  again  in  Vienna,  if  in  years!  But,"  he  smiled 
faintly,  "if  I  am  correctly  informed,  the  Countess 
Oborski  will  not,  in  the  gayeties  of  Vienna,  find  time 
to  remember  her  fellow-nurse?" 

Evelyn  Hartley  drew  her  breath  in  a  gasp  of  a  sudden 
anger.  Her  lips  moved,  but  with  a  slight  inclination 
of  her  head  she  passed  out,  leaving  the  peer  standing 
alone  with  outstretched  hand!  When  he  recovered  his 
composure,  she  was  gone.  But  he  seemed  to  hear 
the  faint  rustle  of  her  robes,  and  a  sudden  gloom 
obscured  the  richness  of  the  hall!  At  his  feet  lay  a 
glove,  forgotten  in  her  flight. 

Alfred  Beauford's  hand  trembled  as  he  stooped  and 
picked  it  up.  He  thrust  it  in  his  breast,  and  found 
himself  at  the  portico's  end,  below  which  the  tide  of 
gay  promenaders  flowed.  His  heart  was  racked  with 
unavailing  regret.  "What  mad  folly  brought  those 
foolish  words  to  my  lips?  She  is  now  only  a  gracious 
memory  of  the  past!  But  I  have  sealed  the  gate  of  the 
barrier  forever!" 

When  he  lifted  his  gloomy  eyes,  Lady  Dunham,  never 
more  radiant  in  her  womanly  charms,  was  at  his  side. 
The  golden  hair  rippled  away  from  the  sweet  face,  her 
eyes  were  liquid  in  their  wistful  anxiety.  "It  is  nothing 
serious,  I  hope!  Alfred,  speak!  Is  there  a  new  sorrow 
for  you?" 


2IO  THE    ANARCHIST 

Dull  and  heavy  were  the  accents  of  his  voice  as 
they  fell  on  her  ear.  "Nothing!  Isabel — only  I  leave 
quietly  to  morrow  early.  I  go  on  a  long  journey,  and 
I  may  not  see  you  for  months.  I  could  riot  go  with 
out  seeing  you!" 

"But  you  will  write?  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you, " 
cried  Lady  Isabel,  in  sudden  alarm.  Her  untold  con 
fession  was  struggling  to  her  pallid  lips. 

"I  will  not  be  able  to  write  a  line.  It  is  a  matter 
of  honor  to  keep  my  destination  secret!  You  must 
not,  even  to  Evelyn  Hartley,  own  that  I  have  taken 
leave,  or  told  you  of  my  departure.  You  simply 
know  nothing!  I  may  not  see  or  hear  from  you  for  a 
year.  Letters  addressed  to  the  Foreign  Office  will 
reach  me,  but  only  on  my  return  to  London!  My  lips 
are  sealed." 

Lady  Isabel  turned  into  the  shadows  of  a  deep 
window  recess,  and  Beauford  writhed  under  her  hope 
less  moan, 

"And  we  shall  not  meet  again?"  There  were  tears 
on  the  trembling  little  hands  which  Beauford  stooped 
and  kissed. 

"Some  brighter  day,  perhaps  under  the  old  oaks 
at  Ventnor.  God  be  with  you,  Isabel — I  must  not 
linger!  Guard  my  departure  from  Walton  as  you 
would  save  my  honor!" 

With  a  choking  throat,  he  turned  away,  and  left  her 
standing  alone.  Her  loving  eyes  were  filled  with  bit 
ter  tears  and  she  did  not  see  him  go! 

"Ah!  My  God!  The  vengeance  of  the  years  is  cold 
and  pitiless!"  was  the  lonely  woman's  cry  as  she  gained 
the  shelter  of  her  apartment.  "He  has  spoken  to 
Evelyn!  She  has  refused  him!  And  now  he  is  lost 
to  me  forever!"  In  her  agony,  Isabel  Dunham  felt  an 


THE   ANARCHIST  211 

insane  jealousy  of  the  stately  American  girl  burning 
in  her  veins.  In  a  darkened  room  she  hid  her  pale 
face  in  the  friendly  shadows.  When  Miss  Hartley 
desired  to  be  admitted,  Lady  Dunham's  message  of 
regret  was  couched  in  icily  polite  terms.  Miss  Hart 
ley,  startled  and  dismayed  by  Beauford's  gaucherie, 
sought  counsel  and  womanly  cheer  from  the  gentle 
Isabel.  But  the  Englishwoman,  stricken  at  heart, 
guarded  her  seclusion,  and  Lord  Beauford  was  far  on 
his  way  toward  Brindisi  when  Lady  Dunham  emerged 
from  her  retirement.  There  was  a  constraint  between 
the  whilom  friends,  which  even  the  haste  of  Lady  Isa 
bel's  proposed  departure  for  Ventnor  Hall  could  not 
disguise. 

Suspicious  of  all  her  Viennese  surroundings, 
Evelyn  Hartley  guarded  her  annoyance  and  sur 
prise  for  she  felt  an  atmosphere  of  distance  separating 
her  uncle  and  herself.  To  "Brother  Philip"  alone 
she  turned  for  heart's  ease  in  her  silent  loneliness.  The 
beautiful  woman's  passions  were  sleeping,  unawakened 
yet  by  the  footfall  of  the  "Fairy  Prince."  Bewildered 
by  Lady  Isabel's  manifest  estrangement  and  the  art 
ful  social  rumors  of  Vienna,  Miss  Hartley  would  fain 
have  questioned  "Brother  Philip."  But,  grave  and 
friendly,  the  answer  of  Philip  Maitland  gave  her  no 
light  on  Beauford's  sudden  departure,  or  his  behavior. 

In  the  vigil  of  their  last  night,  Alfred  Beauford  had 
given  his  bosom  friend  certain  charges  in  case  of  acci 
dent.  "I  can  not  tell  you  how  it  pains  me  to  part  from 
you,  Phil,"  said  the  Englishman,  as  Hobson  reported 
the  last  detail  arranged.  "I  would  have  wished  to 
have  been  less  abrupt  in  taking  leave  of  Miss  Hartley. 
After  a  month  has  elapsed  you  may  tell  her  that  I  was 

secretly  summoned  away  on  duty.     I  value  her  good 


212  THE    ANARCHIST 

opinion  too  highly  to  have  her  think  that  I  left  in 
sudden  pique  or  in  some  intrigue."  Lord  Alfred  was 
keenly  eying  his  friend.  The  approaching  Oborski 
nuptials  had  not  been  a  topic  of  their  heart  exchange. 

"I  would  gladly  do  so  Beauford,  but  Miss  Hartley, 
I  believe,  leaves  at  once  for  Switzerland,  with  no  pres 
ent  idea  of  return  to  Vienna." 

"Did  she  tell  you  so?"  eagerly  queried  Beauford. 
'When?" 

"Why,  several  days  ago!"  remarked  Maitland,  won 
dering  at  his  animation. 

"Watch  over  her,  Phil!"  cried  Beauford,  seizing  his 
hands.  "She  is  a  noble  woman,  and  you  owe  your  life 
to  her  and  that  white  pearl  of  the  cloister,  'Sister 
Louise!"1 

"He  has  learned  of  her  generosity  in  some  way!  I 
must  be  careful  or  I  may  spoil  all,  "thought  Maitland. 
"I  fancy  I  shall  turn  my  steps  homeward,  Beauford," 
he  said,  "as  your  absence  will  be  long  and  indefi 
nite!" 

''Yes!  It  may  lead  me  to  the  end  of  Life's  road," 
said  Beauford.  "Phil!  we  have  seen  a  bit  of  life  to 
gether.  I  have  no  one  nearer  than  you  in  heart!  I 
have  sent  a  letter  to  my  London  bankers,  and  do  you 
have  your  address  registered  there.  I  shall  turn  up 
first  at  London,  and  I  will  wire  you  the  moment  I  am 
in  old  England  again.  Should  anything  happen,  you 
can  read  that  letter.  It  will  tell  you  all!" 

This  was  Beauford's  only  bit  of  sentiment  for  he 
was  bright  and  cheery  as  he  sprang  into  the  train  at 
the  Rampart  station.  "Stole  away!  Keep  the  gos 
sips  quiet!"  was  Beauford's  manly  good-bye. 

Two  days  later  as  Maitland  entered  the  "Grand 
Hotel,"  he  was  accosted  by  Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  in 


THE  ANARCHIST  213 

whose  eyes  an  ominous  glitter  told  of  the  dark  passions 
lurking  under  his  suave  courtliness. 

"Ah!  Maitland!  Just  the  man!  Have  you  seen  Lord 
Beauford?  Is  he  still  in  the  city.  I  desired  to  see 
him!  Can  you  give  me  news?  And  Miss  Hartley. 
She  is  not  at  home.  But  I  am  informed  she  leaves 
seon  for  Switzerland!  Is  this  not  sudden?" 

"Everything  seems  at  cross-purposes!"  muttered 
Maitland,  as  he  remarked,  with  cutting  coldness,  "I 
know  nothing  of  Lord  Beauford's  movements,  Count. 
I  presume  the  Embassy  could  inform  you.  And  I  am 
equally  in  the  dark  as  to  Miss  Hartley's  plans  of  travel. 
I  suggest  you  should  use  great  care,  however,  in  not 
coupling  her  name  with  that  of  Lord  Beauford!" 

"Oh!  Precisely!  I  beg  pardon!  You  misunder 
stood  me!"  remarked  the  discomfited  officer,  as  the 
American  passed  him  with  a  slight  bow  and  mounted 
the  stair.  "There  is  some  mystery  here!  I  am  help 
less  without  him,  I  must  try  the  English  widow's 
stock  of  gossip!"  But  the  servant  returned  with  the 
news  that  Lady  Dunham  was  breakfasting  at  the  Brit 
ish  Embassy.  "Ah,  by  the  way,  Josef,"  craftily 
remarked  Oborski,  "Did  you  see  Mr.  Maitland?  Is  he 
in  the  hotel?" 

"He  is  in  the  small  drawing-room  with  the  great 
American  lady  and  the  old  admiral,"  softly  answered 
the  servant,  pocketing  the  gold  piece  Oborski  had 
slipped  into  his  hand. 

With  a  smothered  oath,  the  enraged  count  sprang 
into  his  carriage,  and  his  philosophy  only  returned 
after  an  hour's  very  deliberate  pistol  practice  at  the 
club  gallery.  "I  will  force  a  quarrel  on  that  American 
fool  after  she  is  gone  and  put  him  out  of  the  way! 
The  Englishman  seems  to  have  been  refused.  He  is 


214  ™E  ANARCHIST 

not  in  Vienna!"  Oborski  gave  special  orders  to  his 
Leporello,  when  his  elaborate  dinner  at  home  was  con 
cluded.  Before  midnight  he  knew  that  Lord  Beau- 
ford's  private  baggage  had  been  arranged  for  final 
departure,  and  a  few  gold  pieces  extracted  further 
details  from  the  hotel  servants. 

When  Count  Stanislas  left  the  "Grand  Hotel,"  Philip 
Maitland  found  Miss  Hartley,  grave  and  composed, 
pondering  over  a  long  letter  in  the  familiar  hand  of 
Judge  Fox.  The  admiral  welcomed  Maitland's  arrival. 
His  keen  eye  had  caught  the  signs  of  a  coming  social 
storm.  He  was  glad  to  escape,  and  over  a  choice 
bottle  of  Hungarian  wine  plot  out  the  "probabilities" 
fora  peaceful  future  course,  Isabel  Dunham  and  Miss 
Hartley  could  not  deceive,  by  their  stately  indifference, 
the  artful  sailor.  "Glass  has  fallen  too  quickly!  Look 
out  for  a  typhoon!"  he  grumbled,  Under  the  "good 
form"  social  excuse  of  "letters  to  write,"  he  escaped 
to  his  Horatian  seclusion. 

"As  I  am  utterly  ignorant  of  American  affairs.  I  can 
be  of  no  assistance,  I  fear,"  was  his  last  word.  Evelyn 
bowed  in  approving  silence.  Maitland  curiously 
watched  the  woman  whose  clouded  brow  spoke  of  grave 
mental  dissatisfaction.  Miss  Hartley  was  learning  the 
lesson  of  life!  She  was  proving  how  little  freewill  is 
really  left,  even  to  those  favored  by  fortune  and  sta 
tion!  The  shadows  of  the  troubles  of  others  dark 
ened  the  sunny  morning  of  her  womanhood!  With  no 
reference  to  Lord  Beauford,  she  handed  him  the  letter 
of  her  old  trustee.  "I  wished  your  advice  before  form 
ing  further  plans  of  travel,  Philip!"  she  said.  "Read 
this.  I  feel  that  you  may  soon  be  needed  at  home, 
and  that  even  I  have  a  duty  to  the  interests  centered 
in  me."  Her  rich,  deep  voice  made  Maitland  start! 


THE    ANARCHIST  215 

There  was  a  ring  in  its  tones  he  had  never  heard 
before.  A  spice  of  deliberate  sadness,  an  incipient 
world-weariness,  telling  of  pressure  from  without!  In 
truth,  Evelyn  Hartley  Divined,  at  last,  that  she  was 
the  object  of  unknown  social  schemes,  that  her  fate 
was  linked  and  interwoven  with  that  of  others,  and 
that  self-interest,  in  its  varied  forms,  was  weaving 
already  nets  for  her  unwary  feet!  On  her  beautiful 
fresh  face,  radiant  in  its  youth,  an  unwonted  look  of 
fixed  sternness,  caught  from  her  resolute  father,  gave 
gravity  to  her  mien. 

"1  hope  there  is  no  immediate  trouble  to  harass 
you?"  he  remarked.  His  light  manner  changed  as  he 
read  the  emphatic  lines  of  the  old  lawyer.  A  guarded 
reference  to  her  mother's  marriage,  in  which  his  repro 
bation  was  veiled  by  a  careful  assurance  that  the  new 
relation  would  not  be  allowed  to  affect  the  estate,  led 
up  to  the  subject  of  his  plaint  of  the  time. 

"Under  the  new  conditions,"  he  wrote,  "I  presume 
you  will  make  no  permanent  arrangement  for  residence 
abroad.  Naturally,  Admiral  Walton  will  aid  and  advise 
his  sister,  whose  American  connection  seems  to  be 
permanently  severed.  In  charge  here,  and  actively 
engaged  in  the  affairs  of  the  Trust,  your  special  inter 
ests  will  be  my  study.  I  am  desirous  that  you  should 
hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  return,  in  case  of  neces 
sity,  and  show,  by  your  own  example,  your  continued 
interest  in  your  birthplace  and  the  people.  There  is 
a  very  uneasy  feeling  growing  up  in  the  United  States 
which  has  gathered  force  for  several  years.  A  period 
of  commercial  depression,  financial  distrust,  and  polit 
ical  skepticism  is  upon  us!  The  manufacturing  inter 
ests  languish  under  overproduction,  and  keen  wars  of 
competition.  The  agricultural  toilers  resent  freight 


21 6  THE   ANARCHIST 

and  interest  charges,  and  the  habitual  good-humor 
and  confidence  of  our  people  seem  to  be  gravely  dis 
turbed.  Our  press  is  inflammatory.  It  declaims  and 
exclaims!  It  does  not  lead  and  guide  as  it  should! 
The  baser  papers  inflame  the  passions  of  classes.  A 
long  period  of  peace  since  '65  has  seen  great  fort 
unes,  giant  privileges,  even  huge  monopolies  slowly 
sail  out  on  our  civic  seas!  Blocks  of  alien  laborers, 
aggregations  of  foreigners,  disturb  our  labor-market  or 
throng  our  cities.  The  great  transportation  lines  are 
finished,  our  army  and  navy  absorbs  but  few  of  the 
turbulent,  and  our  top-heavy  public-school  system  is 
rushing  out,  semi-educated,  the  children  of  the  for 
eigners  who  have  snatched  at  our  citizenship  to  com 
pete  with  our  own  youth  in  every  calling.  Our  writers, 
our  politicians  but  faintly  see  that  our  public  schools  are 
used  only  as  language  instructors  for  this  young  swarm. 
Capital,  cold  and  secretive,  is  drawing  the  rein  tighter 
every  day,  and  the  great  public  lands  have  been  ab 
sorbed.  Now  the  feeling  of  pressure  is  communicated. 
Tramps  swarm  in  the  country,  loafers  crowd  the  cities, 
the  last  living  on  vice  and  aiding  machine  politics. 
Never  was  there  such  a  multitude  of  false  prophets, 
never  so  many  political  schisms.  Morality  is  outraged 
by  tjie  vulgar  rich,  the  reckless  po©r,  and  religion's 
voice  is  getting  shriller  and  smaller  daily!  I  speak  so 
far  only  of  a  present  condition.  What  is  the  future 
fear?  The  prating  and  unceasing  clatter  allowed  in 
public,  and  in  the  unlicensed  press,  has  called  up  a 
class  of  resistants  to  the  duties  of  citizen, — of  positive 
malcontents  and  active  disorganizers.  The  howling 
socialists  who  scream  at  the  dangers  of  "Centraliza 
tion,  "  call  for  the  government,  the  states,  the  communi 
ties,  and  lastly  the  rich,  to  take  care  of  all  the  poor, 


THE   ANARCHIST 

regardless  of  merit.  This  is  'paternalism'  with  a  ven 
geance!  The  theoretical  doubt  as  to  the  right  of  the 
thrifty  to  have  and  keep  property,  is  far  different  from 
these  open  threats  to  take  and  distribute  by  force!  The 
attitude  not  of  labor-unions,  but  people  connected  with 
labor,  of  a  continual  menace  to  level  factories,  destroy 
railroads,  burn  cities,  and  wipe  out  property,  in  case 
of  any  quarrel,  is  alarming!  Neither  great  political 
party  has  the  firmness  to  denounce  lawless  bluster,  and 
the  small  sects  feed  on  it!  The  timidity  and  unfit- 
ness  of  our  city  and  state  governments  has  been  shown 
in  several  public  outbreaks.  Behind  all  this,  I  know 
there  are  active  emissaries  of  anarchism  fanning  the 
flame  of  hate,  and  seeking  to  precipitate  any  outbreak, 
setting  the  embattled  ranks  of  the  poor  against  the  rich  ! 
It  is  true  that  the  influence  is  mainly  foreign,  that  its 
work  is  covert,  that  our  own  people  are  right  in  spirit, 
but  the  work  is  unceasing!  It  has  greatly  multiplied 
lately.  In  view  of  the  fear  of  our  politicians,  the  great 
monied  interests  of  the  land  exchange  confidential 
reports.  There  has  lately  been  observed  an  organized 
movement  of  anarchists,  and  their  abettors,  aided  with 
at  least  considerable  funds,  and  we  have  developed  the 
fact  of  increased  correspondence  and  European  direction 
in  these  incipient  schemes.  It  looks  as  if  an  energetic 
apostle  of  Bakunin  and  Marx  was  stirring  up  the  black 
flood  to  its  depths.  Manufacturing  properties,  especi 
ally  mining  plants  and  railway  interests  are  subject  to 
sudden  losses  from  riot,  fire,  dynamite,  or  skillfully 
united  mob  action.  Cleveland  is  like  Pittsburg  exposed 
to  peculiar  dangers.  Great  money  centers  like  Bos 
ton,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia,  are  now  guarded  by 
a  fairly  well-organized  National  Guard,  under  trusted 
chief  officers.  Centers  of  railroad  traffic  and  great  manu- 


THE  ANARCHIST 

facturing  places  will  be  the  first  attacked,  the  least 
protected,  and  the  hardest  to  safely  guard.  The  well 
located  armories  and  compact  police  forces  of  the 
greater  cities  are  not  found  in  such  places.  We  are 
fated  to  have  hesitating  men  at  the  helrrf  in  emergen 
cies.  Every  malcontent  and  rioter  has  his  vote,  and 
a  vigorous  young  lofers  vote  may  counterbalance  at 
the  polls  that  of  an  ex-President!  Now,  I  call  your 
attention  to  the  singular  lack  of  moral  support  given 
to  the  energetic  police,  in  cases  of  alarm,  riot,  or 
anarchistic  threatening.  There  seems  to  be  a  mental 
inertia  about  the  better  classes  not  at  all  creditable 
to  them.  The  most  outrageous  public  exhibitions  of 
sedition  have  been  permitted,'  within  a  year  or  so,  and 
the  firm  attitude  of  the  startled  police  authorities 
of  Chicago  and  New  York  has  been  criticised  most 
unwisely.  It  seems  to  be  now  admitted  that  the  dis 
tinctly  criminal  classes  of  ultra-socialists, and  mouthing 
anarchists  are  entitled  to  a  certain  minority  representa 
tion  and  opinion!  Instead  of  vigorously  applauding 
the  punishment  of  would-be  murderers  of  the  State, 
a  storm  of  approval  meets  the  unwise  pardoning  in  a 
Western  State,  of  men  who  would  have  been  interned 
for  life,in  any  cool  community.  I  say  the  time  will  come 
when  the  hand  raised  against  the  public  welfare  must 
be  lopped  off  to  save  the  vital  interests  dear  to  all! 
Now,  the  President,  Cabinet,  and  Congress  can  do  but 
little!  Fact  must  be  glaringly  apparent  before  the 
slow  enginry  of  the  Federal  Government  will  move! 
Criminal  plotting  is  markedly  on  the  increase  here, 
and  Western  communities  gravely  threaten  to  abandon 
all  claims  held  by  the  rich  in  deference  to  the  debtor! 
The  security  of  life  and  property  is  as  essentially  the 
liberty  of  the  rich  as  the  franchise  is  a  right  of  the 
citizen  toiler! 


THE   ANARCHIST  21Q 

"Red-handed  anarchism  is  creeping  upon  us,  behind 
the  moving  breastwork  of  reform,  socialism  and  'mod 
ern  theories!'  In  these  times,  in  the  future  which  may 
be  lit  up  with  the  flames  of  a  mad  uprising,  united  by 
alien  criminals,  as  the  constituted  authorities  will  not 
prepare,  //  behooves  those  interested  to  make  ready. 

"Holders  of  property  like  yours,  women  of  wealth, 
absentees  and  corporate  partners  must  be  willing  to  aid 
with  funds,  a  defensive  movement!  Trusty  citizens, 
beyond  any  taint  of  a  personal  motive,  must  be  sought 
out  for  executive  places.  Should  I  call  on  you  to  allow 
me  to  largely  use  funds  in  your  interest,  you  will  know 
why!  You  can  see  the  reasons  of  my  willingness  to 
see  a  block  of  the  trust  funds  safely  secured  for  a  period 
of  years  on  English  lands!  England  may  admit  the 
peaceful  foreigner,  but  she  gives  him  no  voice.  He 
can  not  set  the  land  aflame  unchallenged!  The  better 
classes  have  a  direct  voice  in  the  control  of  the  nation's 
affairs  as  a  class.  That  voice  has  never  been  lifted 
to  destroy  the  vested  rights  of  rich  or  poor.  In  our 
remarkable  country,  rushing  on  from  the  period  of  its 
physical  development  to  uncertain  social  and  political 
changes,  the  aggregate  will  of  the  people,  fairly  ex 
pressed  in  elections,  is  dissipated  by  a  sort  of  loss  by 
induction  and  resistance.  When  it  returns  in  excutive 
action,  its  direction  may  be  changed,  its  force  be  lost 
forever ! 

"We  nearly  lost  the  country  itself,  when  a  weak  man, 
as  President,  faltered  between  the  execution  of  the  laws 
and  the  proud  insolence  of  an  excited  South.  James 
Buchanan's  tombstone  might  have  borne  the  inscrip 
tion  The  Last  President.'  It  is  undeniable  that  the 
'jeunfcsse  doreV  of  the  land  are  now  raised  to  despise 
the  simple,  strong  democracy  which  built  us  up.  The 


220  THE  ANARCHIST 

feeble  sons  of  the  rich,  who  ape  second-class  European 
manners,  and  nourish  first-class  foreign  vices,  will  never 
right  the  wrongs  creeping  into  our  political  system. 
Easy  wallowing  i?  a  golden  trough  will  content  these 
young  men  who  pride  themselves  that  they  never  could 
be  mistaken  for  Americans! 

"I  have  done.     You  can  see  how    calmly  I  reasoned 
as  to  the  safe  placing  of  a  portion  of  the  trust  funds, 
but  you  can  do  me  a  favor.      Should  you    meet  Philip 
Maitland,  show  him  this   letter.      Let    him  read  it.      I 
hoped  much  from  his  youth.      I  feel    that    his  country 
has  a  claim    on  his    manhood.      To    be    an  American, 
not  a  cosmopolitan  club  man,  to  come  home,  ripe  with 
his  travel,  and  added  experience.    We  need  him  for  Con 
gress    here — we  need  him  as  Mayor.    We  should  have 
some  such  man  as  Colonel  of  our  National  Guard  Regi 
ment    here.      The   old    veterans    are    passing    beyond 
their  active  usefulness.    Not  that  he  would  be  plunged 
in  immediately  exciting    scenes,  but    we    want  some  of 
the  best,  as  well  as  many  of    the  worst,  in    place!     We 
must  have  men  upon  whom  we  can  rely!  The  agitators, 
and  sneaking  conspirators  are  making  ready!     Let  us 
make  them  feel    that    the  banded    useful    citizens  can 
prepare  also  for    a    struggle    just  as    sanguinary    and 
sharp  as  their    mad    folly  would    have  it.      In    a  land 
where  we  have  no  stong  military  aristocracy,  no  reso 
lute  sovereign  to  smite  down  red-handed  criminal  insur 
rection,  the  simple  process  of  the  civil  court  ensuring 
private  right  must  be  backed,  through  life  and  death- 
by  every  useful  citizen.   Old  as  I   am,  I  would  go  out, 
musket   in  hand,  to  quell  the  lawless  spoliation  of  any 
man's  home,  rich  or  poor.      If  I    did    not,  I  were  un 
worthy  to  rest  my  head  in  a    tranquil  domicile    of  rny 
own!  Our  country  has  its  future  trials!   The  gray  smoke 


THE   ANARCHIST  221 

drifting  away  from  Appomattox  did  not  show  behind 
it  all  the  future.  The  social  future  of  America,  if 
made  a  social  upheaval,  by  anarchistic  madness,  will 
be  a  dark  and  bloody  one!  I  will  see  that  Philip  Mait- 
land  is  placed,  not  in  the  path  of  ambition,  but  in  the 
line  of  his  duty  among  his  fellows.  As  a  native-born 
American  citizen,  sound  in  precept,  and  worthy  in 
example  we  need  him  here!" 

As  Maitland  laid  down  the  letter,  he  was  conscious  of 
the  earnestness  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  eye,  With  her 
fair  hands  folded,  she  had  followed  the  play  of  varied 
emotion  upon  her  countryman's  grave  face.  A  silence 
reigned  for  a  moment,  and  the  young  man  rose  impa 
tiently,  and  walked  to  the  window.  His  heart  was  full 
of  conflicting  emotions.  In  the  meeting  of  their  eyes 
he  felt,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  knew  why  his  life 
had  hitherto  been  void  of  settled  purpose.  That  there 
were  higher  pleasures  in  this  world  than  mere  enjoy 
ment,  that  the  well-worn  syllables  "Duty"  might  have 
a  charm  of  their  own,  had  never  occurred  to  him!  The 
old  lawyer's  words  roused  him  to  the  conception  of  a 
future  worthy  in  its  purposes,  lofty  in  its  aims,  and 
resting  on  broader  hopes  than  mere  ambition. 

This  his  brain  told  him,  and  also,  and  more,  while 
his  heart  told  him  that  he  had  lingered  near  Evelyn 
Hartley  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  her  strong  womanly 
nature  drew  him  toward  her  of  all  the  world.  The 
silent  charm  had  been  wrought  in  the  days  when  she 
lingered  near  his  couch  of  sickness  !  His  angel  walked 
so  near  him  that  he  had  not  seen  her  beauty!  For  the 
pride  and  tenderness,  the  inspiration  of  her  glance, 
thrilled  him  to  his  heart  of  hearts. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side.  "Shall  I  go  or 
stay,  Evelyn?"  he  said  quietly,  "Do  you  think  my 


222  THE   ANARCHIST 

native  land,  my  birth-place,  my  compeers  have  such 
claims  upon  me  as  are  set  out  in  that  letter?" 

"I  believe  the  noblest  life  for  an  American  is  that 
of  an  active  and  interested  member  of  his  community. 
Particular  actions  have  special  reasons!  Life  is  vari 
ous  now  in  these  later  days!  The  world  has  grown 
strangely  small,  but  the  American  who  abandons  his 
native  land  deserves  to  be  a  'man  without  a  country!* 
It  is  for  you  to  render  an  account  of  your  stewardship 
of  life!  No  one  can  live  the  life  of  another.  No  one 
nature  can  be  a  law  to  any  conscience  but  its  own!" 

"I  will  see  you  to-night.  I  must  think  this  matter 
over  alone!"  said  Maitland  softly,  as  he  left  her,  and 
went  forth  to  a  self-communion  of  hours. 

The  English  mail  of  the  afternoon  added  to  Evelyn 
Hartley's  preoccupations  the  bitterness  of  a  new-born 
hatred  whose  possible  consequences  astounded  her. 
Her  uncle  gravely  placed  in  her  hand  a  letter  from  her 
mother,  in  which  the  refusal  of  Lord  Beauford  to  extend 
the  lease  of  Jervaux  Priory  was  made  the  vehicle  of 
an  attack  upon  her  daughter,  which  made  Miss  Hartley 
tremble  with  indignation. 

"I  have  taken  steps  to  secure  myself  a  fitting  resi 
dence,"  wrote  Mrs.  Rheingold,  "and  am  not  in  igno 
rance  of  the  unwomanly  and  revengeful  intrigues  by 
which  my  daughter  has  thrust  me  out  of  the  home  I 
had  selected." 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  this,  Evelyn,"  said 
Admiral  Walton,  puzzled  "I  leave  the  matter  entirely 
in  your  hands.  I  shall  make  no  reply  to  the  letter." 

Miss  Hartley's  self  command  alone  prevented  a 
possible  betrayal  of  her  secret.  Had  the  bankers  or 
the  lawyers  informed  her  mother  of  the  whole  Story  of 
Beauford's  rescue  from  ruin? 


THE    ANARCHIST  223 

"I  shall  have  peace,  perhaps,  only  in  America," 
mused  the  heiress,  and,  as  she  sat  alone,  she  wondered 
if  any  association  under  natural  laws  would  ever  replace 
the  family  as  moulded  by  man! 

Strange  compound  of  passion,  expediency,  prudence, 
and  stubborn  plodding  in  the  tracks  of  those  whose 
feet  are  at  rest  forever! 

Physical  laws  in  operation,  diverse  and  unfathom 
able  personal  designs,  and  a  dropping  into  the  way  of 
the  world,  segregate  little  knots  of  human  beings  from 
the  rest!  The  family  tie,  the  social  perspective  sel 
dom  binds  or  includes  more  than  three  generations. 
At  that  epoch,  the  evolved  miniature  tribe,  branching 
out,  mingles  in  minor  fragments  with  deeper  streams 
of  blood,  as  rivulets,  joining  the  brook  and  flowing  into 
the  creek, mingle  in  the  waters  of  the  great  river  of  Life! 
While  characteristics  are  lost  in  time,  as  the  group 
is  held  by  law  and  custom,  leaving  out  the  usual  crim 
inal  affection  for  direct  offspring,  the  family  associ 
ation  varies  its  maximum  of  love  and  attraction  to  its 
minimum  of  scorn  and  aversion.  Often  the  history 
is  one  of  the  neutral  line  of  mere  sufferance!  Evelyn 
Hartley,  deprived  of  one  parent,  unloved  by  another, 
mused  bitterly  over  the  algebraic  signs  of  heart-feel 
ing,  the  -(-,  the  — ,  the  ±,  and  the  cold  O  of  death 
or  nothingness,  from  whence  we  all  came,  and  into 
which  dark  and  empty  circle  we  go  hence  in  silence! 
Crowded  with  pallid  shades,  yet  empty,  the  cave  of 
Death  is  the  womb  of  Time,  peopling  this  world  with 
flitting  and  unsubstantial  shades! 

In  the  revulsion  of  her  noble  soul,  against  the  vulgar 
suspicion  and  coarse  inuendoes  of  her  narrow-minded 
mother,  a  mother  only  in  the  physical  fact, — the  envied 
heiress  bowed  her  head  and  wept  for  him  who  slept; 


224  THE    ANARCHIST 

by  Lake  Erie!  Too  young  in  the  world's  strange  love 
to  know  that  infallibly  her  life-curve  must  intersect 
in  time,  another,  she  buried  her  head  in  her  hands  and 
sobbed  over  the  loneliness  which  shaded  her  path! 

The  throbbing  pulses  of  her  youthful  heart,  the  royal 
currents  of  her  blood,  unstirred  with  passion,  reflected 
not  a  thrice  of  the  unrest  which  strangely  moved 
Beauford  speeding  over  the  Mediterranean  waste  of 
waters,  which  clouded  Philip  Maitland's  self-exami 
nation  in  his  lonely  rooms,  and  which  haunted  the  gay 
Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  at  the  palace  puppet  show, 
where  he  was  one  of  the  human  players  in  the  masque 
of  Royalty!  For  even  in  the  presence  of  Austria's 
Emperor,  the  passionate  noble,  greedy  of  the  rich 
prize  of  her  magnificent  fortune,  inflamed  by  her  calm 
personal  attitude,  dreamed  of  the  dark  eyed  American, 
and  swore  "She  shall  be  mine!" 

Under  the  roof  of  the  great  caravansera  of  Fash 
ion's  choicest  devotees,  while  Miss  Hartley  dreamed 
of  her  future,  clouded  with  the  undeveloped  drama  in 
which  she  was  cast  as  "leading  lady,"  fair  Isabel  Dun 
ham,  explained  to  the  astonished  Mrs.  St.  Leger  her 
reasons  for  a  sudden  return  to  Ventnor  Hall.  The- 
Anglo-Indian  army  woman  resented  the  termination  of 
her  pleasant  sojourn  at  Vienna.  Unconscious  of  the 
diplomacy  of  Stein  and  the  Polish  count,  she,  with 
becoming  womanly  vanity,  accepted  their  Grecian 
friendship  as  real! 

"I  might  even  remain.  Vienna  is  so  quaintly  delight 
ful,  but  Miss  Hartley  also  departs  for  Switzerland. and 
I  could  not  remain  alone,  and  follow  out  our  pleasant 
plans!" 

Mrs.  St.  Leger  was  right,  for  even  Indian  Colonels 
have  a  positive,  though  distant  respect  for  "Mrs. 


THE  ANARCHIST  225 

Grundy."  The  sybaritic  warrior,campaigning  at  Simla, 
would  ultimately  hear  of  any  risquee  performance, 
incautiously  interpolated  in  her  "resting  tour!"  While 
he  knew  of  the  extremely  social  disposition  of  his 
lively  wife,  the  gallant  soldier  was  illustrating  his  mili 
tary  character,  by  the  tenderest  attentions  to  the  par 
ticularly  dashing  consort  of  a  dragoon  captain! 

This  absent  son  of  Mars,  chasing  certain  recalcitrant 
fanatics  a  hundred  leagues  away,  would  have  writhed 
in  his  saddle,  had  he  mentally  "kodaked"  the  pair  who 
got  on  so  extremely  well  together. 

"We  must  certainly  take  leave  of  Miss  Hartley 
to-night,"  said  bustling  Mrs.  St.  Leger. 

"By  all  means,"  calmly  replied  Lady  Isabel,  who 
was  pondering  the  contents  of  a  letter  from  her  Lon 
don  agents. 

When  Doctor  Ernest  Rheingold,  swelling  with  the 
prosperity  resulting  from  an  easy  conquest  of  the  ego 
istic  widow,  visited  Lady  Isabel's  bankers,  he  made  an 
awkward,  though  unconscious  revelation! 

"I  should  like,  if  possible,  to  have  Ventnor  Hall 
for  a  period  of  ten  years,"  said  the  nouveau  riche. 
"My  wife,  being  a  member  of  one  of  the  old  county 
families,  is  fond  of  this  region.  We  would  not  stand 
on  the  matter  of  terms,  I  assure  you.  There  are  but 
two  places  suited  to  us,  and  we  fancied  a  liberal  offer 
might  tempt  Lady  Dunham.  Any  proposition  in  rea 
son  would  be  accepted  by  us!" 

"I  am,  of  course,  pleased  to  forward  your  proposals 
to  Lady  Dunham,  who  is  on  the  Continent,"  said  the 
banker.  "In  such  serious  matters,  we  should  expect 
her  to  return  to  London.  We  will  write  at  once,  and 
advise  you  immediately,  but  is  not  Jervaux  Priory 
satisfactory  to  you?" 


226  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Entirely  so;  but  our  lease  is  a  very  short  one." 
Returned  the  pompous  German. 

"I  heard,"  said  the  man  of  money,  reflectively,  "it 
seems  to  me,  I  heard,  that  Lord  Beauford  had  entered 
into  the  diplomatic  service.  He  is  unmarried.  He 
does  not  propose  to  keep  up  his  home  establishment!" 

"That  is  exactly  what  brings  me  to  you,"  replied 
Rheirigold,  with  affected  confidential  grandeur;  "I 
understand  he  has  raised  eighty  thousand  pounds  on 
the  estate  by  mortgage  from  Miss  Hartley,  and  that 
the  rental  of  Jervaux  would  be  in  her  hands.  It  would 
be  very  distasteful  to  us  to  bear  the  relation  of  ten 
ants." 

"Ahf  I  observer  gravely  replied  the  banker.  "I 
shall  have  great  pleasure  in  holding  the  refusal  of 
Ventnor  Hall  at  your  disposition,  until  Lady  Isabel 
may  decide.  I  should  fancy  her  home-place  too 
lonely  and  expensive  for  her.  Besides,  she  may 
marry!  Who  knows?  Nothing  is  expected  in  the  case 
of  any  woman!  I  have  long  since  ceased  to  be  sur 
prised  at  anything  a  woman  may  do!" 

Doctor  Rheingold  bowed  out  with  great  deference, 
entered  his  carriage,  in  forgetfulness  of  the  fact 
that  his  only  knowledge  of  the  investment  of  the 
estranged  daughter  was  derived  from  the  anarchist 
Stein,  now  plotting  at  Cleveland. 

In  his  furtive  visits  to  great  centers  of  proposed 
future  commotion,  Doctor  Carl  Stein  had  not  omitted 
to  visit  his  old  home.  Literary  labors  of  a  quiet  nature 
explained  his  social  incognito.  "Writing  a  book"  is 
the  sufficient  excuse  for  even  the  strangest  social 
hiatus!  Guarded  and  alert  in  his  brief  interviews 
with  Judge  Fox,  he  passed  in  victory,  the  keen  scru 
tiny  of  the  old  lawyer.  But  from  the  clerk  spy,  now 


THE  ANARCHIST  227 

his  slave,  he  learned  of  the  English  investment  so 
opportune  to  Lord  Beauford.  "I  must  not  let  Oborski 
know  this  yet.  He  is  too  passionate,  too  headlong  !  His 
best  chance  of  success  lies  in  awakening  the  slumber 
ing  romantic  feelings  of  Evelyn.  Beauford  and  Mait- 
land  gone,  then  Stanislas  has  a  free  field!  But  Rhein- 
goid  must  know  of  this,  It  will  serve  him  in  his  dom 
ination  of  the  mother,  for  her  money  is  secured  to  the 
Cause!  Rheingold  shall  enrich  his  needy  relatives  and 
be  well  paid  for  smothering  his  life  in  that  woman's 
daily  atmosphere.  The  rest  is  ours!  Fear  will  hold 
him  straight  on  the  course!  But  he  must  know!  If 
Oborski  gains  the  daughter,  I  can  open  my  campaign  !" 

And  so,  with  a  sinking  heart,  beautiful  Isabel  Dun 
ham  learned,  from  her  banker's  cautious  letter,  that 
the  very  honor  of  Lord  Alfred  Beauford  was  pledged 
to  Evelyn  Hartley.  Through  her  tears  she  sobbed: 
"Now  I  know  what  sealed  his  lips  in  silence!  Now, 
I  can  see  the  golden  chain  which  binds  them."  She 
bitterly  gazed  at  her  own  useless  beauty  in  the  mirror 
reflecting  her  tears.  "She  is  not  more  fair  than  I  am! 
He  loved  me  once!  My  heart  is  weighed  down  by 
Miss  Hartley's  millions!"  From  a  vision  of  Lord  Beau- 
ford's  consort  queening  it  at  an  Embassy,  whereat  her 
lost  lover  represented  the  haughty  "Empress  of  the 
Seas," — forced  by  the  merciless  social  hypocrisy  of 
"good  form," — the  lonely  Lady  of  Ventnor,  her  fears 
and  sorrows  locked  in  her  breast,  went  out  to  calmly 
part  from  her  estranged  friend.  In  every  glance  of 
Evelyn  Hartley's  eye,  Lady  Dunham  read  the  con 
sciousness  of  her  power  over  the  absent  man  whose 
name  was  left  strangely  unspoken! 

In  the  mental  repression  of  awaiting  Philip  Mait- 
land's  visit  and  his  decision  on  Judge  Fox's  appeal. 


228  THE    ANARCHIST 

the  stately  American  beauty  received  a  formal  visit 
from  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  with  elaborate  courtesy. 
"You  will  be  at  Lausanne  for  some  time?"  the  count 
said,  splendid  in  his  picturesque  uniform.  "I  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  there!  I  have  occa 
sion  to  visit  it  often!" 

A  secret  summons  to  a  Council  of  the  Red  Brothers 
was  foremost,  even  now,  in  his  mind.  In  the  radiant 
smile  of  the  now  composed  woman,  happy  in  her  depart 
ure,  Oborski  read  the  glad  tidings  of  Hope.  "She  shall 
not  have  time  to  forget  me!"  he  placidly  murmured; 
but  neither  Isabel  Dunham  nor  the  brilliant  Pole  read 
her  heart  aright. 

She  was  awaiting  "Brother  Philip's"   farewell   visit. 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  CLEVELAND — AN  ACTIVE  CITIZEN — PERSONAL  GOSSIP   IN 
THE  "GALIGNANI" — VENTNOR  HALL — FRIENDSHIP  BLOOMS 

ANEW  IN  SORROW UNWELCOME  ARRIVALS  AT  LAUSANNE — 

A  LAKE  PARTY THE  EXPLOSION — "SHE  IS  MINE!" 

MR.  PHILIP  MAITLAND  was  in  a  secretly  rebellious 
frame  of  mind,  as  he  completed  his  toilet  for  his  last 
evening  in  Vienna. 

"Thank  heaven,  I  have  little  to  bother  with  in  my 
run  home.  My  old  Shakespeare  and  a  few  bundles  of 
cigars  are  all  I  need!  I  am  of  slight  importance  in 
this  glittering  'Vanity  Fair.'  Whatever  I  go  to,  I 
leave  little  behind  here.  My  only  return  for  the  world- 
wandering  of  years  is  a  memory  stored  with  quaint 


THE    ANARCHIST  22Q 

shadow-pictures,  and  a  marking  down  of  the  self- 
valuations  of  humanity  to  the  extent  of  say— -fifty  per 
cent! 

"I  must  say  farewell  to  gentle  Lady  Isabel!  I  fancy, 
poor  woman,  her  thoughts  are  with  the  Eastern  voy 
ager!  We  all  seem  to  be  engaged  in  a  game  of  cross- 
purposes ! 

"As  for  me  I  throw  up  my  cards.  I  stand  with  some 
thing  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain!  Lucky  Beauford. 
If  he  meets  no  mishap,  the  future  has  golden  tints 
for  him!" 

Maitland  strode  along  in  the  early  evening,  rugged 
in  his  renewed  strength,  for  the  ozone  of  the  Transyl- 
vanian  hills  thrilled  his  every  fibre.  "Yes!  I  will 
take  one,  some  one  of  the  sketchy  occupations  my 
scattering  college  course  has  fitted  me  for.  I  have 
just  achieved  the  knowledge  of  rnyown  cultured  semi- 
ignorance!  My  collegiate  skimming  alone  in  the 
labyrinths  of  learning  has  only  led  me  to  doors  sealed 
by  my  mental  rawness.  Shall  I  drift  i-nto  the  only 
recognized  American  career,  'Chasing  the  Dollar?' 
Must  I  occupy  that  proud  station  of  a  'leading  citizen, 
recognized  for  sound  business  ability?'" 

Ushered  into  the  presence  of  Lady  Dunham,  Mait 
land  was  fain  to  soon  escape,  after  the  usual  adieu  de 
voyage.  With  difficulty  he  parried  Lady  Isabel's  direct 
questions  as  to  Beauford's  departure.  "I  regret  that 
I  am  as  much  in  the  dark  as  yourself,  Lady  Dunham," 
said  he,  rising  to  take  his  leave.  "The  only  address 
Beauford  gave  me  was  'Foreign  Office,  London/  and 
he  promised  to  cable  me  on  his  return.  I  presume  the 
more  than  strict  code  of  his  new  calling  enjoins  an 
absolute  secrecy  upon  him.  May  I  hope  that  we  may 
all  meet  happily  in  England?" 


230  THE    ANARCHIST 

His  voice  was  very  kind,  and,  with  genuine  regret, 
he  listened  to  her  final  plaint:  "If  you  would  only  tell 
me  all,  I  am  sure  he  has  given  you  some  private 
details."  The  wistful  longing  of  her  eyes,  the  vague 
tenderness  of  her  manner  told  the  story  which  her 
womanly  delicacy  would  conceal. 

"There  is  such  a  word  in  life  as  'too  late!1  I  fear 
the  fates  are  against  her,"  mused  Maitland,  as  he  left 
the  Englishwoman  doubtful  and  disconsolate. 

"A  cheerful  send  off!  One  more  such  inspiring  scene, 
and  I  am  ready  for  the  morning  train!"  gloomily  ejac 
ulated  Philip  as  he  sought  the  presence  of  Evelyn 
Hartley. 

He  was  unprepared  for  the  simple  word  "good-bye!" 

It  was  tacitly  his  decision  to  go  to  America,  not 
from  an  eager  desire  to  enter  into  Judge  Fox's  spir 
ited  undertakings,  but  from  a  sense  of  the  futility  of 
remaining.  "If  I  stay  here,  I  will  drift  into  confiden 
tial  relations  which  tie  my  hands,  and  I  will  be  drawn 
into  a  play  wherein  my  lips  are  sealed."  As  he  reluct 
antly  drew  near  Miss  Hartley's  presence,  he  was  con 
fronted  by  Admiral  Horatio  Walton,  whose  face  showed 
great  concern. 

"I'm  told  you  are  off  for  America,  Maitland.  May 
I  have  a  few  words  with  you  before  you  go?"  the 
sailor  said. 

"Most  certainly,"  replied  the  American.  "I'll  meet 
you  in  the  cafe*  in  half  an  hour!" 

"Thanks!"  said  Walton,  as  he  resumed  his  quarter 
deck  exercise  in  the  main  hall. 

Miss  Hartley  extended  both  her  hands  as  her  vis 
itor  entered.  "So  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  go 
home!"  she  said,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"How  did  you  know?"  he  replied,  astonished. 


THE   ANARCHIST  231 

"I  could  tell  it  in  your  face!  You  have  decided!" 
she  remarked  with  an  air  of  conviction. 

"I  leave  to-morrow  morning,"  he  quietly  answered, 
"But  I  am  unable  to  see  my  personal  duty  clearly 
denned.  I  am  sufficiently  interested  to  go  home  and 
observe  the  rapidly  changing  phases  of  the  American 
national  character.  I  love  my  country.  I  am  not 
attached  to  a  special  interest  or  bound  to  any  class. 
The  homogenity  hoped  for  by  the  fathers  of  our  coun 
try  is  now  impossible.  Foreign  immigration  has  tinged 
unequally  our  communities.  Between  our  farmers, 
manufacturers,  and  traders,  there  is  no  real  sympathy. 
Mean,  narrow-minded,  and  by  no  means  of  ideal  integ 
rity,  our  farmers  are  only  meritorious  as  a  class. 
They  lack  political  honor,  and  steadfastness.  Our  man 
ufacturers  are  wedded  to  a  grinding  routine  and  look 
only  at  their  own  interest.  Our  merchants  take  no  bold 
stand  in  our  councils,  for  they"  un- Americanize  their 
daily  life  as  much  as  possible.  There  seems  to  be  no 
time  for  public  interests.  Each  one  at  home  rushes 
eagerly  to  the  personal  clearing-house  of  the  day,  and 
prepares  only  for  the  morrow.  I  have  little  to  say  but 
good-bye.  I  leave  Europe  with  but  one  debt  unpaid, 
the  obligation  I  owe  to  you,  and  to  Beauford,  for  sav 
ing  my  life!  I  can  never  repay  it,  but  I  will  cherish 
your  kindness  to  my  dying  day!" 

He  rose,  for  her  face  grew  cold  at  the  mention  of 
Beauford' s  name.  "She  is  too  proud  to  ask  me  as  to 
his  destination,  or  has  he  told  her  all?" 

Miss  Hartley  arrested  him  with  a  quick  motion  of 
her  hand.  She  saw  that  he  was  resolute  and  would 
make  no  sign. 

"You  have  more  than  repaid  me  by  your  devotion  to 
my  interests,  and  your  brotherly  aid.  I  trust  you 


232  THE  ANARCHIST 

only,  of  all  around  me,  Philip!"  Her  voice  was  slight  ly 
broken.  "You  may  be  interrogated,  be  questioned  as 
to  my  affairs." 

He  gravely  said,  "My  lips  are  sealed  forever,  I 
might  speak  to  you  now  but  that  I  know  1  must  guard 
your  trust.  Be  the  sole  arbiter  of  your  own  affairs! 
Lead  your  own  life,  free  from  meddling  or  dictation! 
Should  you  ever  need  me,  I  will  come  to  you.  Judge 
Fox  will  have  my  address  always.  My  own  affairs 
are  under  his  legal  control." 

Their  eyes  met  and  the  heiress  was  strangely  moved 
as  he  spoke  in  final  farewell.  "You  will  write  to  my 
London  bankers.  Tell  me  of  your  new  life,  of  your 
home-coming.  Have  I  your  promise?" 

He  bowed  and  pressed  her  trembling  hands  in  silence. 
When  she  lifted  her  head  he  was  gone.  A  mad  im 
pulse  seized  her  to  call  him  back,  and  in  sudden  alarm 
she  sought  her  boudoir.  "What  have  I  to  say  to 
him?"  She  sat  long  with  clasped  hands,  and  found 
no  answer  to  the  question.  "I  am  alone  now,  in  truth," 
she  cried,  and  the  future  showed  her  no  bow  of  prom 
ise! 

Maitland's  brow  was  dark  as  he  joined  Admiral 
Walton.  The  mariner  was  navigating  unknown  seas! 
The  delightful  coterie  around  him  was  breaking  up,  as 
if  under  some  malign  influence!  Daily  he  saw  Evelyn 
drifting  away  from  him  on  the  maelstrom  of  life.  The 
sunny,successful  German, bred  in  penury,stood  between 
him  and  his  wealthy  sister!  With  .  all  an  adventurer's 
coarseness,  Doctor  Ernest  Rheingold  had  blossomed 
out  into  a  country  gentleman  of  the  most  absurd 
pretension.  Walton's  letters  from  England  gravely 
disturbed  him.  The  admiral  was  a  slave  of  that  mod 
ern  fetich  of  "good  form"  to  whose  inane  worship  the 


THE   ANARCHIST  233 

luxuriously  idle  classes  of  England  and  its  pliant  apes 
in  America,  sacrifice  body,  soul,  and  fortune!  The 
wretched  unhappiness  of  his  sister  would  have  moved 
him  less  than  the  social  antics  of  Rheingold,  who 
combined  the  parvenu  and  mountebank  in  the  ridicu 
lous  exhibitions  now  delighting  Walton's  cool,  cynical 
confreres  at  home.  The  rude  pressure  of  the  world 
confines  many  weak  and  vain  natures,  within  the  lim 
its  of  the  caution  of  daily  cares! 

By  the  accidents  of  fortune,  this  pressure  vanishing, 
in  the  world,  where  the  dollar  gilds,  or  the  yellow  sov 
ereign  ennobles,  these  mushroom  natures  expand  in 
the  rich  sunlight  of  prosperity,  into  fantastic  social 
features! 

"If  I  could  only  get  the  doctor  to  return  to  America 
and  astound  the  Yankees  with  his  display,"  mused 
Walton.  "Anything  suffices  to  create  social  rank  in 
America!  It  is  the  happy  hunting-ground  of  the  bogus 
lord,  the  self-promoted  valet,  the  befrogged,  fur-coated 
foreign  noble,  and  the  pretender  of  every  land.  As 
the  presumption  of  these  insolent  pretenders  increases, 
the  Yankee  worship  is  all  the  more  ardent!  If  Rhein 
gold  could  be  translated  to  the  United  States,  I  might 
lead  Evelyn  up  to  position,  and  a  future!  But,  between 
the  two  warring  Hartley  interests,  I  will  quarrel  with 
the  one  and  be  ignored  by  the  other.  Evelyn  gathers 
self-will  and  individuality  daily.  I'll  try  Maitland. 
He  seems  to  have  some  influence!" 

"I  wished  to  speak  to  you  of  the  social  future  of  my 
niece,  Maitland,"  Walton  began.  "I  desire  very  much 
to  heal  the  breach  between  mother  and  daughter.  I 
know  that  you  are  intimate  with  my  colleague,  Wilkin 
son  Fox.  Now,  if  I  could  induce  the  puffed-up  Ger 
man  apothecary  to  return  to  America,  I  could  ensure 


234  THE    ANARCHIST 

Evelyn  a  brilliant  settlement  in  the  highest  ranks  of 
English  society.  Now,  there's  Beauford,  one  of  the 
oldest  names — " 

"Pardon  me,  Admiral  Walton,"  said  Maitland,  whose 
eyes  had  a  gleam  lighting  them,  which  spoke  of  the 
intense  rage  possessing  his  inmost  soul.  "I  return  at 
once  to  America !  My  time  is  extremely  limited.  If 
I  can  execute  any  particular  commissions  for  you,  I 
would  gladly  do  so.  Miss  Hartley  herself  seems  to 
have  none.  As  for  in  any  way  entering  into  the  dis 
turbed  affairs  of  this  family,  permit  me  to  remind  you 
that  family  quarrels,  in  any  rank  of  society,  are  of 
absolutely  no  interest  to  others!  They  should  be  per 
mitted  to  expend  their  storm-force  within  the  unfort 
unate  circle  affected." 

"I  follow  a  rule  of  life  in  declining  to  even  discuss 
the  future  of  Miss  Hartley.  Your  future  plans  from 
her  will  naturally  be  affected  by  your  point  of  view. 
It  would  seem  to  me  that  an  American  heiress,  repre 
senting  one  of  the  great  names  of  our  later  develop 
ment,  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  fortune  heaped  up  by 
American  toilers,  might  find  a  fitting  union  in  her  own 
land!  Something  is  due  to  the  community  which 
looks  for  all  the  nobler  works  of  life  to  those  whom 
the  blind  goddess  has  signally  favored. 

"I  have  always  been  struck  with  the  cold  heartless- 
ness  with  which  the  English  dispose  of  every  social 
question  affecting  Americans!  I  distinctly  deny  that 
the  future  is  golden,  which  leads  an  American  heiress 
into  the  temporary  honors  of  monied  English  arist 
ocratic  life.  Life,  fortune,  and  the  golden  years  are 
offered  up  on  the  altar  of  a  courtesy  title,  among  peo 
ple  who  covertly  sneer  at  the  women  whose  father's 
gold  furbishes  up  your  feudal  rat-hole  castles. 


THE    ANARCHIST  235 

"From  an  American  standpoint,  the  absenteeism  of 
our  leading  young  man,  the  slavish  adoption  of  the 
English  idea,  and  the  abandonment  of  their  country, 
is  cowardly  social  treason.  As  to  the  women,  they 
soon  feel  the  secondary  position  into  which  they  have 
drifted!  The  American  record  of  brilliant  foreign 
marriages  is  one  of  social  wreck  and  frightful  scandal ! 
The  stings  and  arrows  of  their  adopted  English  sisters 
make  the  life  of  the  young  women  sacrificed  to  a 
sickly  vanity,  a  slavery  of  sorrow.  American  absentee 
ism  is  the  fatal  curse  of  our  fin  de  siecle  days!  The 
heavy  hand  of  the  Government  should  be  laid  in  pun 
ishment,  and  forfeiture  on  this  mad  folly  sapping  our 
social  forces!  There  should  be  absolute  negation  of 
all  American  rights  meted  out  to  those  who  abandon 
their  country!  The  position  of  American  citizen  hon 
ors  any  man!  The  liberal  home  and  social  life  of  the 
American  woman  makes  our  land  a  Heaven  to  the 
sensible,  in  comparison  to  the  Hell  of  cold  neglect,  and 
heartlessness  into  which  our  exported  young  women 
enter!  The  time  will  come  when  these  doubtful  'social 
honors'  will  be  patent  badges  of  disgrace!  Our  com 
munities  are  waking  up  to  the  return  of  wives,  heart 
sick,  divorced,  plundered  in  purse,  and  loaded  down 
with  children  who  precociously  illustrate  the  impudent 
vices  of  their  foreign  fathers!  We  can  breed  vice  fast 
enough  at  home!  The  destruction  of  the  Atlantic  pas 
senger  ferry  would  be  a  blessing  to  America!" 

"Why  do  you  not  practice  your  own  code?"  sneered 
Admiral  Walton,  thoroughly  aroused  by  Maitland's 
manner. 

"1  propose  to!"  calmly  said  Philip.  "I  leave  to 
morrow  morning.  If  my  awakening  is  a  late  one,  it 
may  yet  be  effective.  At  any  rate,  Admiral,  let  me 


236  THE    ANARCHIST 

assure  you  of  my  sincere  wish  for  Miss  Hartley's  hap 
piness,  at  home  or  abroad.  Rheingold  is  only  one  of 
a  class  of  successful  foreign  sycophants  and  charlatans 
who  slip  in  through  unguarded  doors  into  our  wealthier 
families.  He  is  an  illustration  of  my  theory  with 
regard  to  international  marriages.  So  )'ou  see,  Admi 
ral,  I  am  not  specially  opposed  to  English  fortune- 
hunters.  Your  nobility  have,  at  least,  something  to 
give  in  return  for  Papa  Moneybag's  investment.  1 
am  not  opposed  to  any  naturalized  citizens  of  useful 
ness  casting  their  lot  with  us,  if  the  transaction  is  a 
bona  fide  one.  But  when  the  stranger  within  cur 
gates  fattens,  and  waxes  insolent  in  our  midst,  building 
up  miniature  Germanys,  Polands,  Irelands  and  other 
polyglot  communities  in  our  midst,  then  I  cry;  'Close 
the  gates!'  The  whole  nation  will  re-echo  it  in  five 
years!" 

Maitland  rose  to  go.  Admiral  Walton  stopped  him 
with  a  grandiose  wave  of  his  hand. 

"And  you  tell  me  that  an  English  nobleman  is  not 
a  fitting  mate  for  an  American  girl?" 

"Usually  not!"  rejoined  Philip  calmly.  "The  ques 
tion  of  equality  does  not  enter.  Advisability  is  the 
vital  point.  As  a  'bargaining  Yankee,'  however,  I 
only  hope  that  when  an  American  girl  sells  herself,  or 
is  sold,  she  will  get  the  price  and  fair  treatment!  I  do 
not  think  England  has  a  single  noble  who  would  be 
demeaned  by  marrying  Miss  Hartley.  Any  American 
woman  worthy  of  the  name — one  who  represents  the 
best  class  at  home — can  be  admitted  to  your  European 
circles  without  shaking  the  jewels  from  even  the  Eng 
lish  crown!  The  truth  is,  Admiral,  England  is  the 
land  of  Cant  and  your  'good  form'  covers  many  an 
ugly  angle!" 


THE  ANARCHIST  237 

He  extended  his  hand. 

"You're  not  a  bad  fellow,  Maitland !  Let  us  have 
a  parting  glass?" 

"Agreed,"  said  Philip,  "we  will  drink  to  the  fairer 
adjustment  of  the  international  marriage  exchanges. 
Send  over  your  blue-blood  girls  with  a  bit  of  money. 
Our  'stay-at-home  '  men  may  marry  some  of  them  if 
they  are  as  sweet  as  their  American  cousins." 

"There  is  no  fitting  circle  in  America  for  an  English 
woman  of  rank,"  said  Walton,  stiffly.  "Your  society 
has  no  real  basis!" 

"Well,  we  must  get  along  without  them  then!" 
remarked  Philip,  merrily.  "Thank  Heaven!  A  man 
can  get  a  pretty  fair  consort  without  leaving  our 
shores!  Our  men  are  not  as  hard  to  suit  as  our 
women!  Even  our  Pall  Mall  Brigade  returns,  when 
the  exchequer  is  exhausted,  to  snap  up  the  scattering 
heiresses  left  over  by  the  foreign  Pashas  who  throw 
the  handkerchief!" 

Philip  Maitland  felt  an  unwonted  throb  in  his  pulses 
as  he  left  the  half-mollified  admiral. 

"1  fancy  that  boy  has  been  chaffing  me  a  bit,"  grumb 
led  the  old  man,  as  he  solaced  himself  with  "t'other 
glass"  and  plunged  into  a  solitary  consideration  of  the 
growing  family  feud. 

Three  weeks  later,  Maitland  sat  gazing  on  the  busy 
throng  along  Euclid  Avenue  in  Cleveland.  His  home 
had  reopened  its  hospitable  doors,  and  a  number  of  old 
friends  had  verified  the  fact  that  the  wanderer  was  not 
wholly  spoiled  by  brushing  elbows  with  dukes,  count, 
monsignores  and  pashas. 

With  insidious  tact,  Philip  had  remained  long 
enough  in  New  York  City  to  so  array  himself  that  it 
was  possible  to  mistake  him  for  an  American.  His 


238  THE   ANARCHIST 

collection  of  foreign  curios  in  the  way  of  wardrobe  and 
personal  gear  was  rapidly  gravitating  into  the  posses 
sion  of  his  "man,"  an  alert  compound  of  trans- Atlantic 
prejudices. 

"Do  you  feel  entirely  at  home,  Phil?"  said  Judge 
Fox,  who  had  availed  himself  of  a  day  out  of  court, 
to  breakfast  with  the  young  man. 

The  wary  old  trustee  had  not  found  Maitland  to  be 
an  artesian  well  of  information.  In  fact,  the  pumping 
process  failed  to  give  the  desired  stream. 

"I  am  growing  accustomed  to  the  frantic  energy  of 
the  human  cannon-balls,  projected  hither  and  thither, 
in  our  high  explosive  manner.  I  fancy  I  will  wake  up 
to  the  high-keyed  music  of  home  life  shortly." 

Fox  despaired  of  leading  out  Maitland  on  the  affairs 
of  the  Hartley  family.  Philip  gracefully  parried  the 
advances  of  the  lawyer,  and  pressed  an  excellent  cigar 
upon  him  as  a  symbol  of  golden  silence! 

Venturing  out  from  his  breastworks,  into  the  open, 
Fox  bluntly  said;  "Do  you  not  propose  to  settle  down 
and  become  an  active  citizen?" 

"From  the  description  you  gave  of  the  political 
future,  I  should  think  I  would  do  well  to  join  the  con 
servatives  and  watch  'our  active  citizens. '  Miss  Hart 
ley  read  me  your  views!" 

"They  are  truth  and  coming  shadows  already  darken 
our  present !  The  future  will  be  gloomy.  Maitland, 
I  have  waited  for  your  return  to  tell  you  how  serious 
the  situation  is.  The  discontented  formulate  a  demand 
on  the  state  to  furnish,  not  only  relief,  but  remunera 
tive  employment  to  the  masses.  Capital,  backed  by  the 
government,  must  furnish  work,  needed  or  temporarily 
invented,  to  regulate  the  varying  wants  of  the  laboring 
masses.  This  is  proposed  as  a  measure,  demanded  as 


THE  ANARCHIST  239 

a  right,  and  followed  with  the  menace  that  the  'peo 
ple'  so-called,  will  liberally  help  themselves  by  force, 
if  this  new  principle  is  not  engrafted  on  our  'unwrit 
ten  constitution !' 

"It  is  a  frank  threat,  'You  shall  not  keep  what  you 
have,  unless  you  immediately  provide  what  we  want!' 
In  other  words,  these  agitators  forcibly  thrust  them 
selves,  in  as  uncapitalized  partners,  with  the  holders  of 
property!  It  is  not  a  theory  of  agrarianism,  socialism, 
or  even  communism.  It  is  the  beginning  of  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  whole  system  founded  on  'Private  Right!' 

"Once  admitted  in  journalism,  in  arguments,  this 
position,  advanced  as  it  is,  will  serve  as  a  cover 
for  newer  and  more  daring  attacks!  There  are  skilled 
agitators  spread  all  over  our  land  now,  trying  to  force 
their  wedges  into  every  flaw  and  cranny,  to  widen  the 
breach  between  the  rich  and  poor! 

"Let  thrift,  the  possession  of  wealth  and  individual 
enterprises,  be  made  dangerous,  and  our  American 
system  is  a  failure!  I  said  as  much  to  Professor  Stein 
when  he  passed  through,  a  month  ago.  He  frankly  told 
me  that  the  lower  classes  in  Europe  were  moving  out 
as  a  whole,  from  under  the  toppling  aristocracies  of 
Europe. " 

"Where  is  Stein  now?"  said  Philip,  with  some 
interest. 

"He  is  moving  quietly  around,  making  studies  for 
his  labored  work,  'Racial  Development  in  America/ 
He  holds  that,  as  all  restraining  pressure  is  relaxed 
here,  it  is  almost  time  to  note  the  results  of  German, 
Irish,  Italian,  Semitic,  Scandinavian  and  other  foreign 
migrations  here  !" 

"He  is  very  nearly  right !"  grimly  remarked  Mait- 
land.  "The  American  citizens  of  home  blood  may  be 


240  THE    ANARCHIST 

studied  as  a  vanishing  c/ass,  and  their  decadence  pict 
ured  by  Stein,  as  a  companion  volume,  if  he  lives 
twenty  years.  Our  national  resultant  blood  recalls  the 
story  of  the  cask  of  fine  brandy  which,  in  its  transmis 
sion  from  the  vineyard  to  the  frontier,  passed  through 
various  unscrupulous  handlings.  Deftly  withdrawing 
portions  and  substituting  water,  it  passed  through  all 
the  stages,  from  pure  spirit  to  ditch  water,  on  its 
arrival. — Did  Stein  leave  his  address?"  Maitland 
regarded  the  lawyer  curiously. 

"He  did  not!  His  movements  are  uncertain!  His 
progress  among  these  peoples  is  hampered  by  their 
suspicious  jealousy.  He  said  he  would  visit  Europe 
once  or  twice  in  the  next  season!" 

Philip  smoked  in  silence.  "I  warrant  he  outwitted 
the  judge!  I  will  wager  he  has  some  private  confi 
dences  with  Doctor  Rheingold."  Yet  he  made  no  sign. 
The  whole  situation  of  both  branches  of  the  Hartley 
fortune  was  a  maze  of  growing  schemes. 

"Now,  Philip,  as  I  take  it  for  granted  you  will  be 
one  of  us,  I  have  a  communication  to  make,"  said  the 
judge.  "Situated  as  we  are,  midway  between  New 
York  and  Chicago,  and  in  a  center  of  manufacturing, 
railway,  and  steamboat  interests,  we  are,  in  a  measure, 
isolated.  Treasure  passes  through  here,  oil-pipe  lines 
and  vast  general  interests  make  a  show  of  what  the 
anarchistic  demagogues  call  'heaped-up  wealth. '  These 
fools  do  not  see  that  these  things  all  represent  stock 
in  trade,  or  tools  of  trade,  paid  for,  or  unpaid  for — that 
capital  as  well  as  labor  has  its  lien  upon  them,  but 
that  capital  alone,  is  credited  with  their  ownership, 
envied  for  their  possession,  and  must  preserve,  as  well 
as  direct,  and  employ  all  these  representatives  of 
value.  All  the  fine-spun  theories  of  anarchistic  peerism 


THE    ANARCHIST  24! 

have  not  turned  out  a  ton  of  steel  rail,  built  even 
one  hut,  or  added  a  thousand  bushels  of  wheat  to  the 
granary  of  the  world!  It  is  'vox  et  praeterea  nihil!' 

"The  anarchistic  leaders  differ  from  the  agreeable 
holy  men  of  India  who  sit  in  pious  contemplation  by 
the  road  and  wait  for  the  faithful  to  feed  them  ! 

"These  blatant  rogues  howl  for  their  own  'unearned 
increment,'  and  loudly  demand  the  other  man's  share 
also! 

"Now,  about  fifty  of  the  men  who  are  trustees  of 
this  wealth*  of  their  own  and  others,  recognize  the 
tempting  bait  here  exposed  to  the  criminal  robbers! 
It  can  be  heaped  up,  undefended  here,  by  adroitly 
maneuvering  rail-way  strikes.  Social  riot  can  produce 
confusion!  Robbery  and  arson  will  follow  a  few  spo 
radic  dynamite  terroristic  outrages!  In  this  way,  the 
wolves  of  modern  society  propose,  under  cover  of  the 
confusion,  to  set  class  against  class,  and  profit  by  the 
upheaval!  The  robust  manliness  of  the  American  labor- 
unions  may  be  led  by  national  sympathy  under  the 
rallying  cries  of  'Free  Speech,'  'Free  Thought,'  'The 
Rights  of  Labor,'  and  other  generalities,  to  give  a  cer 
tain  support  to  these  designs!  It  might  be  a  week 
before  an  external  force  could  restore  order!  In  the 
meantime  the  great  city  would  be  pillaged,  or  left  a 
scarred  ruin  like  Paris  after  the  Commune  Fury. 

"Other  unprotected,  important  points  are  similarly 
exposed  all  over  the  land,  irrespective  of  party  or 
difference  in  station,  a  chosen  band,  who  are  watching 
anarchism,  are  preparing  now  to  teach  these  insensate 
villains  a  lesson!  We  do  not  act  publicly,  as  our 
designs  would  be  frustrated  by  the  lurking  enemy.  All 
over  the  land  we  are  examining  the  resources  at  the 
sudden  call  of  law  and  order!  We  leave  state  govern- 


242  THE    ANARCHIST 

ments,  civic  office,  and  general  reform  questions  alone! 
We  are  making  ready  to  meet  criminal  violence  of 
anarchistic  nature  most  promptly,  and  visit  it  with  deci 
sive  punishment!  The  foul-mouthed  ravings  of  the 
devotees  of  the  Chicago  anarchists  hint  at  the  use  of 
dynamite  and  arson!" 

"We  will  furnish  rope  to  grip  the  necks  of  the  men 
of  the  torch  and  bomb.  We  will  back  our  men  with 
breech-loaders  in  trusty  hands!  We  propose  the 
spoilers  shall  find  on  the  threshold  of  every  American 
home,  stately  or  humble,  men  ready  to  die  to  defend 
the  right.  It  will  be  no  exchange  of  fine-spun  theory, 
but  an  expression  of  the  God-given  right  of  self- 
defense,  which  belongs  as  well  to  the  useful  citizen 
as  the  mouthing  malcontent! 

"Public  opinion  and  local  pride  holds  the  police  up 
to  a  state  of  decent  efficiency.  They  may  need  back 
ing.  Nothing  but  systematic  force,  well  controlled,  will 
do  it.  Our  local  National  Guard  Regiment  needs  a 
major.  Its  superior  field  officers  may  retire  or  be 
removed.  We  want  a  man  behind  whom  the  citizens 
can  rally  as  a  supporting  posse,  should  the  command 
and  the  police  need  our  physical  help  as  well  as  funds, 
and  moral  backing.  Will  you  be  that  man?  I  have 
been  asked  to  sound  you.  None  but  selected  men  can 
attain  such  places  now  !  I  drop  compliment!  It  is  a 
call  of  duty!  Will  you  help  in  this  way  to  further  our 
plans?  We  are  willing  to  extend  reasonable  relief  to 
the  worthy.  We  are  willing  to  arbitrate,  to  consider 
the  general  welfare,  and  to  make  our  state  the  haven 
of  the  worthy!  We  have  had  about  enough  of  this 
anarchistic  bullying.  We  will  stand,  under  the  law, 
and  absolutely  crush  the  terrorists!  They  shall  be 
stoned  at  the  gates  like  the  outcasts  of  Israel !  There 


THE    ANARCHIST  243 

is  a  time  when  mercy  is  mad  folly.  Nothing  contents 
these  modern  lunatics.  In  Russia,  their  death  cry  wasy 
A  bas  la  tyrannic!  Vive  1*  anarchic!'  In  France, 
Ravachol  and  Vaillant  die  howling  'Mort  a  la  bour- 
geosie  !  Vive  1  'anarchic!'  The  same  application  of 
cowardly  assassination  to  the  haughty  Czar,  with  life 
and  death  at  his  nod,  and  the  lawful,  unguarded  rep 
resentatives  of  popular  government  in  enlightened 
France!  Vaillant  screams  under  the  grip  of  the  heads 
man,  that  his  body  may  perish,  but  his  principles  will 
survive!  In  the  face  of  such  idiotic  inconsistency,  we 
propose  that  in  the  attempted  application  of  the  fanatic 
Bakunin's  remedy  of  'Destruction'  in  America,  their  bod 
ies  shall  perish  (if  the  battle  joins)  and  our  principles 
shall  survive!  The  governments  of  the  civilized  world 
will  be  forced  to  join  hands  in  systematic  repression! 
These  deserters,  spies,  and  marauders  in  the  campaign 
of  human  progress,  seek  a  doom  which  is  forced  on 
organized  society  as  the  only  remedy ! 

"Will  you  do  your  duty  to  your  city,  to  your  people, 
to  the  fellow-citizens  who  ask  you  to  share  this 
labor?" 

Maitland,  pausing  in  his  restless  pacing  of  the  well- 
remembered  library,  turned  to  the  old  man  and  soberly 
said,  "I  will,  Judge;  you  may  use  my  name.  I  am 
aware  of  my  unfitness  to  actively  enter  on  this  duty. 
But  I  have  an  old  friend  in  command  of  an  army  post 
near  here.  I  can  use  a  month  there  in  private  study, 
and  object-lessons,  then  I  will  be  able  to  fill  my 
place  with  at  least  a  skeleton  idea  of  duty." 

Judge  Fox  shook  the  returned  traveler's  hands 
warmly.  "This  is  the  right  spirit.  We  will  cau 
tiously  introduce  other  men  of  your  calibre.  You  will 
be  asked  to  meet  our  executive  committee  at  once." 


244  THE   ANARCHIST 

When  the  counselor  had  departed,  Philip  Maitland 
gazed  around  him.  The  old  home  was  a  memorial  of 
the  thrift  and  energy  of  a  departed  generation.  His 
eye  fell  on  his  father's  picture.  Under  the  inspiration 
of  the  eyes  now  closed  forever,  he  vowed  to  cast  his 
lot  in  with  the  preservative  movement.  Thoughts 
thronged  upon  the  young  man  which  led  him  to  wan 
der  down  to  where  the  great  city  lay  below  him,  throb 
bing  with  the  organized  activity  of  a  busy  day. 

"It  is  a  noble  trust  to  guard  the  houses  of  my  native 
city  in  the  dear  old  land!"  The  breeze  sweeping  from 
the  blue  lake  was  laden  with  the  very  spirit  of  free 
dom,  and  he  thanked  God  that  he  stood,  a  free  man  in 
a  free  land!  There  came  over  him  a  thrill  in  thinking 
of  the  three  centuries  expended  in  conquering  savage 
nature,  and  in  building  uf  the  America  of  to-day.  The 
labors  of  the  dead  toilers,  the  thoughtful  wisdom  of  the 
early  patriots,  our  foreign  war,  the  awful  price  paid 
for  the  slavery  crime,  the  slow  emergence  of  arts,  sci 
ence,  literature,  and  a  cultured  society  from  a  lonely 
barbarism,  all  these  passed  before  his  mind! 

"They  shall  never  undo  the  triumph  of  Time!"  he 
solemnly  said,  as  he  returned  his  steps.  Passing  the 
closed  Hartley  mansion,  magnificent  even  in  its 
deserted  state,  a  sudden  pang  rent  Maitland's  heart. 
He  turned  his  head  away. 

Evelyn  Hartley's  face  was  ever  present  in  his  heart. 
In  the  vigils  of  the  night,  pacing  the   deck    of    the 
liner  on  the  wild  Atlantic,  he  had  seen  the  way  to  self- 
denial,  to  a  good-bye  to  fresh  hopes,  that  might  have 
made  his  life  a  paradise. 

"It  is  my  duty  not  to  press  upon  her  my  suit!  I 
owe  my  life  to  her  and  to  Beauford !  Master  of  the 
secret  of  her  noble  action  toward  him,  knowing  of  her 


245 

lingering  abroad  to  meet  him  on  his  return,  it  would 
be  mean  and  cowardly  in  me  to  intervene.  The  con 
fidential  labors  I  have  executed  in  her  behalf,  my 
knowledge  of  her  veiled  kindness,  all  this  stops  me 
from  forcing  my  affection  upon  her. 

"It  would  be  a  treason  to  the  comrade  of  my  heart 
in  his  distant  quest!  And  she  will  walk  another  path 
in  life,  the  darling  woman  whom  I  would  call  wife!" 
And  a  shadow  darker  than  the  nightfall,  wrapped  him 
round,  as  he  sought  his  lonely  home. 

While  Philip  Maitland  entered  deeper  daily  into  the 
council  of  that  necessary  conservatism  which  lives  by 
the  failure  of  general  "reform"  schemes,  Evelyn  Hart 
ley  tasted  all  the  sweetness  of  life's  morning  in  rov 
ing  over  the  land  of  Tell.  The  thrilling  grandeur  of 
God's  sculpture  exalted  her  soul  as  she  glided  over 
Alp-shadowed  lakes,  or  trod  the  crisp  glacier  with 
springing  step.  Admiral  Walton  had  relapsed  into  a 
agreeable  "modus  vivendi."  If  the  heiress  was  not 
daily  moulded  to  his  will,  she  was  safe  from  extrane 
ous  pressure.  Lady  Isabel  Dunham's  return  to  Vent- 
nor  was  hailed  by  the  country  side  who  gathered  around 
the  peerless  beauty  in  her  home-coming.  Admiral 
Walton's  letters  told  him  of  the  marked  gayety  of 
the  blue-eyed  beauty.  His  face  grew  stern  as  he 
read  of  the  general  exclusion  of  his  sister  and  her 
parvenu  husband.  The  county  families  would  not 
condone  the  mesalliance  mi  a  woman,  received  as  a 
Walton,  who  allied  herself  to  an  upstart  physician. 

Rank  and  gold,  great  renown  is  needed  to  carry  the 
medical  practitioner  into  English  society.  The  sons 
of  Galen  hover  on  the  outskirts  of  the  higher  circles, 
hardly  within  the  door. 

"Thank  HeavenJ     They  must    leave!     As    Beauford 


ANARCHlSt 

has  leased  Jervaux.  to  Lord  Derwentwater  there  is  no 
lingering  there.  And  Lady  Dunham  will  keep  state  at 
Ventnor.  I  fancy  the  bells  in  the  old  gray  church 
town  will  ring  wedding  peals  before  long! 

"Another  patent  social  failure!  May  and  December 
over  again!  General  Dunham  was  not  the  lover  to 
bind  her  heart  with  golden  chains,  nor  even  yet  the 
man  to  win  her  confidence  and  respect,  while  yet  young 
enough  for  companionship. 

"Youthful  passion  makes  strange  matches,  but  family 
ambition  and  cold  worldly  prudence  also  ruin  countless 
unions.  At  least  the  woman  wedded  in  her  heart's 
desire  may  say,  as  Thekla,  when  the  storm  breaks:  'I 
have  lived  and  loved!' 

"Pm  glad  Beauford  will  be  absent  some  time.  Lady 
Isabel  will  be  disposed  of!  I  shall  live  to  see  my 
Evelyn,  the  Lady  of  Jervaux  Priory." 

The  old  head  of  the  Walton  family,  loyal  to  his  birth 
and  breeding,  longed  to  see  the  beautiful  American  a 
shining  star  in  the  circle  dear  to  his  loyal  British 
heart!  "She  is  of  our  old  stock.  Our  Yankee  friend's 
house  of  cards  may  tumble !  She  will  be  safe  from 
the  world's  storms  behind  the  guns  of  England's  match 
less  fleet,  ruling  her  chosen  battle-ground,  the  world's 
high  seas!" 

So  the  days  sped  merrily  by  in  the  delightful  early 
autumn  of  Switzerland,  and  Evelyn  Hartley  ceased  to 
wonder  at  Lady  Dunham's  coldness.  She  vainly  con 
jectured  the  distant  scenes  wherein  Lord  Beauford 
braved  all  danger  for  the  "Kaisar-i-Hind, "  and  her  mind 
was  occupied  with  consideiations  of  her  next  year's 
travel,  her  studies  of  life  and  continental  society.  She 
was  not  left  without  gossipy  news,  for  the  lively  Mrs. 
St.  Leger,  roving  from  one  to  another  of  England's 


THE    ANARCHIST  247 

Unrivaled  country-houses,  practiced  her  army  habit  of 
letter  writing  on  the  lonely  heiress. 

"She  may  be  very  available  on  my  returning  pil 
grimage,"  thought  the  artful  military  flirt. 

"It  will  be  an  agreeable  break  in  my  voyage !"  Mrs. 
St.  Leger  sighed,  for  the  social  furloughs  of  even  easy 
going  East  Indian  duennas  must  have  an  end.  "I  will 
keep  an  eye  on  this  little  triangular  puzzle  which  ties 
up  Beauford  and  my  two  friends."  With  sly  manag 
ing  skill,  Mrs.  St.  Leger  entered  into  the  counsels  of 
both  the  women  who  now  waited  for  news  of  the  mys 
terious  quest  of  Lord  Beauford.  "It  is  as  well  to 
keep  in  touch  with  rising  people,"  reflected  Mrs.  St. 
Leger,  who  thereupon  sifted  in  an  extra  touch  of 
sweetness,  in  her  letters  to  the  .undeclared  rivals.  In 
the  self-surrender  of  her  joy  in  romantic  Switzerland's 
varied  attractions,  Miss  Hartley  failed  to  realize  that 
several  rencontres,  each  bringing  a  newer  touch  of 
romance  into  her  life,  brought  Stanislas  Oborski  into 
closer  relations  with  uncle  and  niece.  The  great  "Hotel 
de  Quatre  Saisons"  at  Lausanne  was  a  favorite  resting 
place  of  the  Austrian  noble.  Graced  with  the  national 
facility  and  vivacity,  Oborski  was  a  master  of  the 
middle-age  legendary  romance  clinging  to  the  shores 
of  Lake  Leman. 

A  superb  linguist,  an  ardent  and  impassioned 
musician,  he  was  also  a  practiced  master  in  the  arts 
of  the  salon. 

His  courtly  experience  in  the  exclusive  circles  of 
Vienna,  the  chevalerer«ue  devotion  of  his  manner, 
and  the  distinction  of  his  personal  bearing  lifted  him 
above  any  of  the  cavaliers  whom  the  summer  days 
added  to  Miss  Hartley's  court.  His  military  profes 
sion  endeared  him  to  Admiral  Walton,  who  welcomed 


248  THE    ANARCHIST 

him  with  a  geniality  peculiar  to  the  "services!"  For 
your  fighting  trade  seems  to  be,  par  excellence,  the 
career  for  men  of  parts  and  good  blood  in  Europe! 

Miss  Hartley  was  secretly  proud  of  her  influence  in 
changing  Philip  Maitland' s  career.  In  his  dispatches 
of  the  varied  affairs  of  the  Trust,  Judge  Fox  found  time 
to  refer  to  the  marked  emphasis  of  the  young  traveler's 
welcome.  "He  will  certainly  be  a  leader  in  the  com 
munity.  The  next  year  will  certainly  see  him  made  a 
Member  of  Congress,  and  he  is  serving  on  several 
committees  of  great  importance  to  us  at  present.  I 
am  rejoiced  at  his  energy,  and  the  manly  vigor  with 
which  he  is  entering  into  our  home  life. 

"Maitland  will  gather  a  personal  following  of  our 
best  young  men,  and  be  an  active  promoter  of  local 
welfare! — I  am  trying  to  induce  him  to  seriously  take 
up  the  legal  career  for  which  his  gifts  markedly  fit 
him.  He  is  a  man  to  make  his  mark  anywhere." 

The  beautiful  woman  read  with  eager  interest  the 
letters  in  which  Maitland  confessed  himself  practic 
ally  a  stranger  to  his  own  land.  "I  have  lived  for 
many  years,"  he  wrote,  "in  the  contemplation  of  the 
conventional  America.  I  have  carried  the  generalism 
of  my  boyhood  in  my  heart.  I  find,  however,  that  the 
United  States  of  to-day  is  a  sentient,  heaving  mass  of 
personal  investigators  in  matters  of  politics,  society 
and  even  religion !  Old  parties  are  crumbling,  old 
creeds  -are  falling,  and  even  the  stately  'public  func 
tionary'  of  my  youthful  days  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 
The  land  I  have  returned  to  is  not  the  land  of  the 
speech,  the  novel,  the  song,  the  political  picture,  as 
luridly  touched  up  by  enthusiasm  P  I  am  astounded 
to  see  class  lines  drawn  more  sharply  at  home  than 
abroad,  though  the  lines  of  division  are  on  different 


THE   ANARCHIST  249 

levels.  Bradstreet's  and  Dun's  commercial  agencies  are 
the  Burke  and  De  Brett  of  Columbia.  Managing 
mammas  and  anxious  papas  scan  these  semi-secret  rec 
ords  breathlessly.  The  rank  of  men  is  determined  at 
bank  and  clearing-house,  and  the  judiciously  assorted 
crowns,  tiaras,  and  bandeaux  of  diamonds  worn  by  the 
women  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  in  Gotham  are  tide 
gauges  of  the  ebb,  flow,  and  rise  of  fortunes.  The  motto 
of  my  native  land  is  'Nothing  but  gold  !'  The  highest 
superlative  is  'as  good  as  gold.'  Heaven  itself  is,  with 
apt  financial  neatness,  described  as  being  'on  a  gold 
basis? 

"Now  to  those  who  are  merely  quarreling  over  the 
deference  due  their  respective  superfluities,  this  'gold 
basis'  may  be  satisfactory!  How  about  those  who 
stand  without  the  iron  gates,  shutting  off  the  toiler  and 
his  womenkind  from  the  'Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold?' 

"While  I  stand  ready  to  meet  with  fire  and  flame 
the  anarchistic  wolves  who  would  storm  the  fold  and 
destroy  sheep  and  shepherd  in  one  mad  rush,  I  have 
the  warmest  admiration  for  America's  striving  bread 
winners!  I  am  amazed  at  the  callous  indifference  of 
the  money  element,  the  purely  money-handling  ele 
ment  to  the  natural  wants  of  the  deserving  poor.  The 
victims  of  illness,  of  misfortune,  the  weaker,  the  friend 
less,  are  too  often  thrust  to  the  wall  by  the  burly  money 
changer. 

"It  is  these  people,  whose  daily  life  is  a  possible 
tragedy,  to  whom  my  heart  goes  out!  Alas!  Even  a 
republic  does  not  insure  against  individual  misfortune. 
I  sigh  when  I  think  of  the  gracious  and  thoughtful 
interest  of  the  men  and  women  of  gentle  blood  in 
Europe  in  those  beneath  them !  A  general  rush  for 
gold  here,  robs  us  of  consideration  and  reverence  for 


THE   ANARCHIST4 

the  aged  and  weak,  blunts  our  tenderness  to  the  suffef- 
ing,  and  hardens  heart, and  closes  hand.  I  am  confirmed 
in  my  belief  that  a  purely  commercial  or  manufactur 
ing  life  does  not  foster  the  kindlier  sentiments. 

"Competition,  class-quarrels,  and  self.-interest  have 
led  our  successful  money-makers  too  often,  to  regard 
themselves  as  a  superior  order  of  beings.  As  a  rule, 
the  self-made  men  wield  the  hardest  lash!  The  upstart 
women  have  no  greater  sneer  than  'She  is  a  working 
woman! 

"When  it  can  be  realized  that  those  who  play,  dis 
port  themselves,  and  come  up  to  the  level  of  luxury  are 
lifted  by  the  toilers,  this  cold  taunt  seems  fiendish!  The 
pathetic  side  of  American  life  is  the  trustful  manhood 
and  womanhood  of  the  workers,  facing  an  iron-bound 
destiny  with  fortitude,  and  covering  daily  slights  with 
the  clinging  vines  of  friendship  and  family  affection! 

"It  is  no  wonder  that  the  plaint  of  the  toilers  often 
swells  the  chorus  of  frantic  agitation!  The  most 
healthful  sign  to  me  is  that  the  insensate  wickedness 
of  rotten  anarchism  is  evolved  from  only  the  foreign 
scum  of  the  emigrant  ships! 

"One  by  one,  these  false  prophets  are  recognized  and 
dropped  by  the  serious  native  labor-leaders!  It  is  the 
hope  of  my  life,  should  any  violent  eruption  occur, 
that  these  vagrant,  seditious,  or  murderous  foreigners 
may  meet  prison  restraint,  or,  in  open  anarchistic 
attack,  wither  under  the  rifle  blast! 

"To  the  earnest,  striving  toiler,  asking  his  full  wage, 
and  no  more,  the  peaceful  artisan,  the  useful  worker, 
I  can  hold  out  the  hand  of  brotherhood.  If  not  the 
architects  of  our  national  fortunes,  they  are  the  disci 
plined  regular  soldiers  who  have  fought  the  battles  of 
our  marvelous  material  progress.  The  man  or  woman 


TtiE   ANARCHlSf  25! 

who  would  cut  off  their  natural  aspirations  for  a  grad 
ual  rise  in  fortune  or  station  is  untrue  to  the  cardinal 
principles  of  our  national  character.  All  hail  the 
workers  of  America! 

"In  my  stand  for  the  right,  should  place  of  trust  or 
power  be  mine,  I  hope  always  to  have  the  confidence 
and  respect  of  those  who  have  been  doomed  'to  labor 
and  to  wait. ' 

"The  crying  want  of  the  hour  is  not  ostentatious 
doles,  advertised  charity,  the  cheap  expedient  of  the 
pauper  soup-house,  but  a  warm,  living  sympathy  with 
those  who  need  it.  There  is  no  family  tree  so  firmly 
planted  in  America  that  it  may  not  be  uprooted,  and 
its  proudest  shoots  lie  on  the  level  with  the  atoms 
from  which  it  sprung! 

"You  may  hear  of  excitement,  agitation,  sporadic 
crimes,  or  tumult,  perhaps,  but  the  great  tide  of  Amer 
ican  feeling  is  not  yet  tinged  with  foreign  corruption. 
The  aggregate  sense  of  our  people,  tardily  expressed, 
is  firmly  declarative  of  a  devotion  to  civil  order.  The 
lurid  tableaux  of  the  anarchists  in  America  will  simply 
amount  to  exhibitions  of  the  'auto-da  fe. '  I  will  cheer 
fully  assist  in  the  necessary  extirpation  of  the  adopted 
children  of  Marx  and  Bakunin.  As  regards  Ameri 
cans,  I  feel  like  the  gallant  Henry,  riding  at  Ivry, 
'No  Frenchman  is  my  foe.'  I  have  learned  that  the 
words  'My  country'  mean  not  alone  rocks,  trees,  and 
rivers — smiling  plains,  and  towering  palaces,  but  those 
living,  beating,  human  hearts  who  cluster,  in  love  and 
peace,  under  the  far-sweeping  folds  of  our  banner." 

There  were  symptoms  of  the  return  of  winter.  The 
chill  blasts  swept  from  the  Jura,  and  the  season  waned. 
Evelyn,  secretly  anxious  for  news  of  Lord  Beauford, 


252  THE   AtfARCHlSf 

lingered  at  Lausanne,  and  Admiral  Walton  revolved  the 
problem  of  winter  quarters.  "Any  place  on  the  conti 
nent, if  I  meet  not  Rheingold  and  my  sister.  It  would  be 
social  ruin  to  be  classed  on  the  parvenu  level.  As  for 
explanations,  they  are  always  awkward — and — use 
less!"  The  old  sailor  was  a  bit  of  a  philosopher.  One 
afternoon  as  he  re-read  a  letter  announcing  the  final 
departure  of  the  Rheingolds  from  Jervaux,  and  their 
proposed  continental  tour,  he  conned  over  his  Galig- 
nani  in  search  of  a  hint  as  to  some  favorable  haven 
until  spring.  Seated  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  grand 
porch,  calmly  enjoying  his  cheroot,  his  eye  strayed 
from  the  journal  to  the  lake's  blue  expanse.  Graceful 
steamers  swept  in  at  Ouchy  Landing,  like  pictured, 
swans,  and  a  royal  yacht,  racing  along  the  still  expanse, 
bore  the  flag  of  the  King  of  Gold — Rothschild. 

Evelyn,  dressed  for  her  afternoon  ride,  was  slowly 
approaching,  when  she  saw,  with  affright,  the  paper 
fall  from  Walton's  hand,  and  his  head  sink  on  his 
breast. 

When  the  girl  reached  his  side,  he  groaned  and 
motioned  feebly.  "It  is  nothing!  Wait!  Don't  alarm 
yourself.  I  have  only  had  some  bad  news.  Poor 
Alfred!" 

Miss  Hartley  picked  up  the  journal  and  her  face 
grew  ashen  as  she  read  an  extended  item,  in  the 
column  of  "Personal  Mention."  The  reported  death  of 
Lord  Alfred  Beauford  of  fever,  at  Khiva,  gave  the  para- 
grapher  an  opportunity  to  more  or  less  faithfully 
enumerate  his  titles,  the  lists  of  his  clubs,  refer  to 
his  extended  travels,  briefly  sketch  Jervaux  Priory,  and 
to  set  forth  some  of  his  virtues  and  none  of  his  faults. 

It  was  the  usual  parting  salute  of  a  fashionable 
chronicle.  A  reference  to  his  expected  diplomatic 


THE   ANARCHIST  253 

promotion  and  his  absence  in  Cashmere  and  Turke 
stan  on  -a  hunting-trip  closed  the  brief  chronicle.  The 
admiral's  man  aided  the  broken  old  veteran  to  his 
room,  and  Evelyn  Hartley,  seated  in  silence  at  her 
casement,  looking  out  on  the  splendid  picture  below 
her,  saw  nothing  of  the  brightness  of  the  scene,  for 
blinding  tears  were  raining  from  her  eyes!  The 
glory  of  the  splendid  scene  was  darkened  in  the  shad 
ows  of  that  lonely  death,  far  away  in  the  burning  sands 
of  the  Asian  desert. 

By  the  next  evening,  Admiral  Walton  was  able  to 
read  the  laconic  words  of  a  friend  in  the  "Foreign 
Office,"  in  answer  to  his  dispatch. 

Nothing  known  here.    No  confirmation.    Russian  news. 

And  uncle  and  niece  were  forced  to  wait  while,  gloomy 
conjectures  racked  their  minds.  The  through  English 
mail  brought  Miss  Hartley  a  tender  letter  from  Lady 
Isabel  Dunham.  Ventnor  Hall  had  been  also  visited  by 
the  angel  of  sorrow,  and  instinctively  the  woman  who 
hopelessly  loved  Beauford  turned  in  her  lonely  distress 
to  the  woman  whom  she  thought  to  be  the  woman  of  his- 
love.  When  Evelyn  Hartley  finished  the  blurred  pages, 
she  folded  the  lines  away,  with  Alfred  Beauford's  pict 
ure.  "He  is  gone  where  this  avowal  can  not  reach  him, 
to  aland  without  love  and  laughter."  While  Admiral 
Walton  mourned  in  secret  the  ruin  of  all  his  hopes 
for  Evelyn's  future,  the  heiress,  arraigned  at  the  bar 
of  Memory,  lived  over  the  scene  when  she  parted 
in  pride,  and  anger  from  the  man  whose  glance  of  sur 
prise  and  pain  haunted  her  now? 

Miss  Hartley's  nights  of  unavailing  regret  brought 
to  her  no  peace  of  mind.  It  was  in  unbosoming  her 
soul  to  Isabel  Dunham  that  she  felt  drawn  nearer  to 


254  THE    ANARCHIST 

him  who  was  gone,  in  cheering  the  woman  who  had  loved 
him.  The  faint  discord  between  the  women  was  stilled 
in  the  silence  of  that  unknown  grave,  and  a  summons 
to  Ventnor  was  Isabel  Dunham's  tender  rejoinder. 
"You  will  find  the  Derwentwaters  the  most  delightful 
people,  and  I  would  be  so  infinitely  happier  if  you 
were  near  me!  There  is  so  much  to  explain.  I  can 
now  tell  you  all  the  story  of  my  life — the  love  which 
has  never  left  my  heart!"  For,  even  in  her  sorrow, 
gentle  Lady  Isabel  read  the  words  aright  which  beau 
tiful  Evelyn  penned  to  her  sister  in  distress. 

"It  can  only  make  her  happier,"  said  Evelyn,  as  she 
finished  her  rejoinder.  She  cleared  up  certain  matters 
seen  hitherto  darkly.  Both  uncle  and  niece  understood 
Lady  Dunham's  delicate  reference  to  the  absence  of 
the  Rheingolds. 

"Shall  we  go?  The  path  is  clear  now."  questioned 
Walton,  who  now  drifted  with  the  tide  of  Fate.  There 
was  no  campaign  possible  for  the  friendly  old  match 
maker. 

This  question  settled  itself.  By  previous  arrange 
ments,  Count  Oborski,  secretly  desirous  of  throwing 
his  persuasive  influence  on  the  question  of  winter  resi 
dence,  had  signaled  his  arrival  on  one  of  his  myste 
rious  trips  of  duty.  Neither  the  admiral  nor  the  endan 
gered  heiress  dreamed  that  Davidoff,  the  dreaded  Chief 
Executive  of  the  Red  Brethren,  called  the  noble  to 
his  side,  or  that  the  spies  of  anarchy  watched  and 
reported  their  every  movement  to  the  Polish  lover. 
Admiral  Walton,  gazing  at  the  guest  book,  sought 
Evelyn  with  a  precipitation  which  excited  her. 

"We  must  leave  here  at  once,  my  child.  It  is  the 
only  way  to  avoid  an  extreme  unpleasantness!" 

"Why  so?  What  has  happened?"  cried  the  startled 
woman* 


THE    ANARCHIST  255 

"Because  the  great  state  chambers  are  filled  with 
the  appanage  and  personality  of  the  Rheingold  suite. 
Your  mother  and  her  husband  are  here  for  a  stay,  and, 
thank  Heaven,  grandly  secluded  in  their  rooms." 

"I  have  an  idea,"  said  Miss  Hartley  decisively.  "I 
wished  to  spend  a  week  at  Evian  on  the  southern 
shore  of  the  lake.  We  have  several  friends  there.  I 
do  not  wish  to  quit  so  abruptly  this  lovely  region. 
When  we  move,  let  us  arrange  our  winter  residence. 
In  the  meantime,  we  can  go  over  this  afternoon  to 
Evian  and  we  need  not  meet  the  new-comers."  Even 
in  his  hurry,  Admiral  Walton  reflected  that  Evelyn 
Hartley's  lips  had  forgotten  the  sweetest  word  in  the 
language  of  love — Mother! 

"But  Count  Oborski  comes  to-day  at  three  as  our 
guest,"  the  admiral  interjected. 

"True!"  answered  his  niece.  "He  comes  at  three. 
We  will  take  the  boat  at  four." 

With  no  sign  or  rencontre,  the  tourists  embarked 
on  the  dainty  "Savoy, "  under  the  escort  of  the  delighted 
nobleman,  who  joined  them  on  his  arrival.  The 
count  was  watchfully  tender.  Perfectly  aware  of  the 
reported  death  of  Lord  Beauford,  he  followed  the  wis 
dom  of  his  frequent  counselor,  Doctor  Stein.  "I  will 
let  her  make  the  first  reference  to  this  welcome  stroke 
of  Fate!"  he  smiled,  as  he  marked  the  royal  beauty  of 
the  woman  who  seemed  to  be  drifting  toward  him. 

"It  is  a  delicate  juncture,"  he  reflected  as  the  boat 
sped  across  the  lake,  quivering  under  the  impulse  of 
her  powerful  engine.  "One  false  movement  might 
ruin  me  now!  'Piano,  piano,'"  he  hummed,  as  he  noted 
the  great  triangular  wake  stretching  behind  them  on 
the  glassy  waters.  In  his  assiduous  attentions  to  the 
woman  he  had  marked  down,  the  Pole  had  no  opportu- 


256  THE   ANARCHIST 

nity  to  sound  Admiral  Walton  as  to  the  untimely  death 
of  Lord  Beauford,  or  to  discover  what  mad  freak  had 
led  the  English  patrician  alone  to  the  dangerous  wastes 
of  Turkestan.  For  not  a  whisper  had  reached  Vienna 
of  the  absent  attache's  movements.  "If  Beauford  had 
a  secret,  it  died  with  him,  justifying  the  old  family 
motto  'Loyal  quand  meme. ' 

"He  was  a  gentleman,"  coolly  reflected  the  brilliant 
soldier.  "Schwartzenburg  is  terribly  cut  up  over  it! 
Vale  Beauford.  It's  the  fortunes  of  the  war  of  Life!" 

While  Admiral  Walton  paced  the  lower  deck  of  the 
"Savoy"  in  reminiscence  of  his  olden  days,  he  decided 
to  sound  Count  Oborski.  "There  was  something  very 
sudden  in  Beauford*  s  abrupt  departure.  Can  it  be  that 
Evelyn  has  refused  him?  That  he  threw  up  his  hand  in 
the  game  of  life  in  disgust.  I  must  find  out.  Oborski 
knows  everything  going  on!  He  has  the  chatter  of 
Europe  at  his  finger  ends!"  It  was  true,  for,  cast  in 
a  "star"  part  of  the  now  complex  game  of  cosmopol 
itan  anarchy,  the  brilliant  court  favorite,  now  a  dash 
ing  cavalry  commander,  received  the  secret  counter-spy 
reports  of  all  but  the  very  highest  grade!  The  only 
spies  not  reporting  to  him,  in  his  vicinity,  were  those 
who  mercilessly  detailed  his  every  action  to  Davidoff, 
Carl  Stein,  and  the  Higher  Council — a  grade  he  was 
madly  burning  to  reach.  As  the  boat  sped  on,  in  its 
arrowy  flight,  Stanislas  Oborski's  voice  grew  more 
velvety  in  its  music,  his  eyes  thrilled  with  a  deeper 
passion,  for,  exhausted  by  her  chafing  regret,  repel 
lent  of  the  negative  influence  of  her  mother,  Evelyn 
Hartley  was  in  a  receptive  state  of  unguarded  languor ! 
Like  all  of  her  sex,  from  the  strongest  to  the  weakest, 
she  was  the  prey  of  moods,  and  this  autumn  day  it 
seemed  that  she  sailed  upon  an  enchanted  sea.  There 


THE    ANARCHIST  257 

was  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  in  Oborski's  eyes.  He 
had  not  failed  to  note  the  softened  state  of  the  beau 
tiful  American's  feelings,  and  it  made  her  doubly  fair. 
"It  is  the  golden  time,"  he  felt,  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 
Glancing  at  the  groves  of  Evian,  now  near,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  already  leading  her  out,  beyond  the  old 
life,  to  the  Italian  shores  of  passionate  love. 

"We  are  about  to  land,"  he  whispered.      "May  I — " 

The  reference  to  an  evening  tete-a-tete  was  never 
finished,  for,  with  a  terrific  shock  and  floods  of  scald 
ing  steam,  a  deafening  explosion  rent  the  slight  ves 
sel  in  its  onward  course,  and  a  shattered, sinking  wreck 
floated  in  fragments,  whelmed  soon  in  the  hungry 
waters  of  the  deep  lake.  Cries  and  yells  from  the  shore 
and  the  struggling  sufferers  sounded  on  the  air,  and 
shoals  of  pleasure  boats  darted  out  to  save  the  pleas 
ure  seekers. 

When  the  slight  fabric  of  the  upper  deck  careened 
and  plunged  below  the  clear  waters,  Oborski's  first 
glance  showed  him  the  face  of  the  woman  he  sought, 
within  a  few  yards.  His  powerful  strokes  brought 
him  to  her  side,  and  while  around  them  young  beauty 
and  laughing  life  sank  away  under  the  crystal  surface, 
the  cool  swimmer  bore  up  his  precious  burden.  It  was 
an  eternity  of  fear  and  agony  to  her  closing  eyes,  but, 
with  a  supreme  effort,  he  held  her  up  in  the  chilling 
flood,  until  a  boat  neared  them. 

The  accident  occurred  almost  at  the  landing-place 
of  the  gay  resort,  and  scores  of  willing  hands  aided  in 
caring  for  the  rescued.  Headlong  in  his  daring,  and 
as  keen-eyed  as  an  eagle,  Oborski  assured  himself 
of  Miss  Hartley's  immediate  safety,  and  sought  for 
Admiral  Walton  in  the  yet  unfinished  mele"e.  With 
a  glad  shout  of  >oy  he  marked  the  old  veteran's 


258  THE    ANARCHIST 

triumphal  landing,  for  the  quick-witted  sailor  had,  by 
the  aid  of  a  floating  mass  of  wreckage,  "held  bravely  up 
his  chin!"  Hundreds  were  busy  at  the  quest  of  sur 
vivors,  or  aiding  the  rescued  and  injured, and  speedily 
the  members  of  the  party  of  three  were  safely  con 
veyed  to  the  warmed  rooms,  and  welcome  comforts -of 
the  great  inn. 

Count  Stanislas  was  extremely  exhausted.  His 
matchless  nerve  and  strength  had  carried  him  through. 
While  the  attendants  commented  on  his  gallant  and 
timely  achievement  in  saving  Miss  Hartley,  the  anar 
chist  lover  closed  his  eyes  to  dream  of  triumphs  yet  to 
come.  "For,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  *she  is  now  mine!" 
Before  the  stars  swept  to  the  west,  escorted  by  the 
ecstatic  admiral,  the  fortunate  soldier  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  the  grateful  beauty. 

The  tenderness  of  a  gratitude  knowing  no  bounds 
lit  up  Evelyn  Hartley's  face,  and  the  eyes  into  which 
his  fiery  glances  shone  returned  him  the  exquisite 
promise  of  any  reward  he  would  ask! 

Long  after  the  search  had  ended,  and  the  cruel 
lake  was  lapping  its  beach  in  quiet,  Count  Stanislas, 
in  the  careful  seclusion  of  his  room,  repeated  softly: 
"Mine  by  the  gift  of  Fortune,  mine  forever  now!  A 
life  for  a  life!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

BARON  VON   RHEINGOLD — IN   THE  BALANCE — AT    MUNICH. 

A      JUNTA      OF     WISEACRES — ANARCHY'S       WARNING EVE- 

LYN'S      SHADOWY      CORONET — THE       SECRET     MESSAGE.— - 
AN   ASTONISHED    ADMIRAL 

THE  consternation  and  alarm  created  by  the  explo 
sion  of  the  "Savoy"  caused  a  wave  of  excitement  reach- 


THE    ANARCHIST  259 

ing  every  crested  nook  of  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of 
Geneva.  The  Swiss  gentry  as  well  as  the  world's 
tourists  were  busied  with  the  history  of  the  untoward 
disaster  for  days.  The  rank  of  Admiral  Walton,  the 
fame  of  Miss  Hartley's  wealth  and  beauty,  made  them 
conspicuous  in  local  gossip.  Telegrams  and  messages 
poured  in  upon  the  robust  old  sailor  who  was  one  of 
the  heroes  of  the  wreck. 

Miss  Hartley,  by  the  order  of  physicians,  was 
secluded  until  the  results  of  the  mental  shock,  and  an 
illness  produced  by  the  icy  immersion  had  been  con 
quered.  The  romantic  appearance  and  gallant  bearing 
of  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  gave  a  touch  of  cheval- 
resque  devotion  to  the  rescue  of  the  lovely  American. 
The  count,  really  prostrated,  was  cool  enough  to  guard 
his  room  and  allow  the  mental  photography  of  Evelyn 
Hartley  to  fix  his  face  in  he'r  heart,  as  he  sustained  her 
sinking  form.  His  impassioned  voice  rang  ever  in  her 
ears  and  the  proximity  of  the  scene  of  the  wreck  added 
daily  to  her  burden  of  gratitude.  During  the  recovery 
of  the  two  central  figures  of  this  modern  romance, 
Horatio  Walton,  with  an  eye  to  the  future,  made  a 
cautious  reconnaissance  of  the  enemy  at  Ouchy.  "If 
I  were  positive,  it  might  not  be  the  ruin  of  my  influ 
ence  with  Evelyn,  I  would  visit  my  sister  Caroline." 
A  dull  envy  of  Rheingold  gnawed  at  the  old  sailor's 
heart.  He  had  a  gentlemanly  avarice  spurring  him  on, 
even  in  his  comfortable  position.  He  decided  not  to 
visit  his  estranged  sister,  when  at  the  Ouchy  Club  he 
learned  of  the  state  and  pretentions  of  Baron  von 
Rheingold.  Some  shadow  reflect  of  one  of  the  ten 
thousand  petty  baronies  of  Germany  seemed  to  have 
rested  upon  the  ex-doctor.  His  visiting  card  bore  a 
crest,  the  marvel  of  heraldic  research,  and  the  Baron 


260  THE    ANARCHIST 

von  Rheingold,  boldly  engraved,  was  in  fact  an  extract 
from  the  modern  Libro  d'Oro.  A  fortunate  discussion 
of  the  affairs  of  the  wealthy  strangers,  in  his  presence, 
apprised  Walton  of  his  sister's  permanent  residence. 

"This  Rheingold  married  an  American  widow  of 
enormous  fortune,  and  is  only  traveling  while  the  cas 
tle  on  their  beautiful  estate  near  Chemnitz  is  entirely 
refitted.  It  is  one  of  the  finest  places  in  Saxony,  and 
the  superb  old  feudal  escutcheons  will  give  way  to 
his  blazory,  which  looks  like  a  circus  banner! 

"They  only  obtained  it  through  the  ruin  of  the  old 
Rittenhouse  line,  and  the  domain  was  purchased  in 
his  wife's  name,  I  am  told.  The  sum  paid  was 
princely.  My  brother  was  one  of  the  officials  necessary 
to  the  transfer."  So  babbled  along  a  careless  travel 
ing  German  noble. 

"Adolph, "  the  other  slowly  answered,  "our  Germany 
is  slow  to  admit  the  nouveaux  riche.  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  this  fellow  is  aping  a  rank  he  knows  little  of. 
The  old  families  will  not  admit  them.  Saxony  is  not  like 
Paris,  where  a  full  pocket  carries  its  own  welcome." 

"Oh!  I  fancy  he  will  enjoy  his  magnificence,and  the 
widow  will  shine,  in  her  own  eyes,  at  least.  They  are 
at  least  a  boon  to  the  inn- keepers.  The  noble  Baron 
von  Rheingold's  progress  is  as  stately  as  one  of  the 
visits  of  Louis  XIV.  to  the  scene  of  a  little  war!  They 
are  the  laughing  stock  of  Lausanne,  and  the  queerest 
stories  are  told  of  his  social  antics.  His  wife  is  less 
outree  than  the  adventurer." 

Admiral  Walton  finished  his  bottle  of  Rudesheimer 
without  changing  a  muscle.  Returning  to  Evian,  he 
framed  his  campaign.  "Any  place  from  whence  we  can 
fly  to  Italy  will  do!  Munich  is  unexceptionable  or  Vi 
enna!"  And  as  he  paced  the  deck  of  the  "Savoy's"  sue- 


THE   ANARCHIST  26 1 

cessor,  he  carelessly  ignored  the  possible  consequences 
of  Oborski's  successful  chivalry.  "The  count  is  certainly 
powerful,  and  has  the  entree  of  court  circles,  and  the 
proud,  suspicious  Viennese  aristocratic  salons.  A  club 
companion  of  Schwartzenburg  and  Paul  Esterhazy — a 
man  admitted  to  the  fate's  of  the  Lichtensteins  and  Met- 
ternichs,  a  soldier  to  whom  the  Emperor  gives  a  crack 
cavalry  brigade  is  of  the  'veille  roche'  beyond  doubt. 
"All  in  all,  I  would  prefer  Vienna,  but  'My  Lady 
Willful'  must  decide.  I  shall  ask  Evelyn  to  choose, 
only  our  picket  lines  must  be  watched  toward  Chem 
nitz." 

Count  Stanislas  had  found  time,between  his  French 
novels  and  hours  of  secret  planning, to  establish  a  secret 
service  line  among  the  quick-witted  servants  of  the 
lakeside  inn. 

With  deft  delicacy,  his  offerings  of  flowers,  his  little 
notes  of  inquiry,  were  borne  to  Miss  Hartley's  pres 
ence,  in  unobtrusive  quiet.  He  was  en  rapport  with 
the  maid  who  served  the  heiress.  Lying  behind  his 
closed  curtains  he  smiled,  as  he  realized  that  bluff 
Admiral  Walton  knew  nothing  of  his  small  corre 
spondence  and  graceful  offerings. 

"If  I  read  this  girl  aright,"  he  mused,  "she  will 
lead  herself  up  to  a  state  of  exhuberant  gratitude.  My 
sickness  has  been  well  spun  out.  To  press  directly 
on  her  my  claims  would  be  coarse.  I  have  the  excuse 
of  a  necessary  return  to  my  command.  An  ardent 
interview,  a  rendezvous  in  her  winter  resting  place,  the 
effect  of  an  absence,  and  then  a  vigorous  and  effective 
appeal  to  her  emotions,  and  a  claim  on  her  future — 
this  will  make  me  master  of  her  millions. 

In  a  week,  Miss  Evelyn  Hartley  was  busied  with 
her  installation  in  a  superb  home  at  Munich.  ''I  will 


262  tHE   ANARCHIST 

fancy  that  I  am  'en  permanence,'  uncle,"  cried  the 
heiress  as  on  her  mentor's  arm  she  passed  approvingly 
through  the  fortunately  secured  residence  she  owed  to 
Walton's  practiced  negotiation.  "Here  let  us  rest!  The 
galleries,  the  people,  the  cosmopolitan  movement  will 
be  to  me  a  varied  school,  and  you  can  be  relieved  from 
the  constant  attendance  which  travel  demands." 

The  American  craved  rest,  for  on  her  journey  from 
Evian,  her  cheeks  crimsoned  with  deepest  blushes  at 
the  significant  tenderness  of  Count  Oborski's  last  inter 
view. 

Pale,  and  with  an  air  of  almost  classic  distinction, 
his  bearing  was  made  up  of  solicitous  courtesy,  and 
an  ardor  veiled  only  by  the  proprieties.  Conscious  of 
the  immense  power  of  imagination,  of  the  result  of  a 
maiden's  introspection,  gently  oblivious  of  the  debt 
of  a  life  snatched  from  an  untimely  and  early  death, 
he  murmured,  "The  duty  due  my  Emperor  alone  calls 
me  from  your  side.  I  shall  count  the  hours  until  I 
may  return  to  you.  I  can  not  speak  as  I  would  until 
I  have  received  the  gracious  favor  of  an  audience. 
Then,  I  shall  hasten  to  you  at  Munich!  May  I  come?" 

The  artful  leading  up  to  his  decisive  manoeuvre 
soothed  the  woman  whose  heart  was  beating  in  excite 
ment  until  the  almost  positive  directness  of  his  finale 
hemmed  her  in. 

His  passionate,  pleading  eyes  were  burning  with  a 
scarcely  restrained  passion.  The  full  measure  of  her 
great  debt  weighed  upon  her,  as  almost,  with  a  gasp, 
she  murmured  "You  may  come!"  The  ardent  kisses 
rained  on  her  hands  left  no  doubt  of  the  throbbing  tide 
of  love  in  his  heart. 

On  his  returning  pathway  to  the  fields  of  Transyl 
vania,  Count  Oborski  maintained  a  recurrent  system 


THE   ANARCHIST  263 

of  keeping  himself  daily  in  her  mind.  Notes,  tele 
grams,  the  exquisite  daily  gifts  of  flowers,  even  "en 
voyage"  proved  the  ingenuity  of  his  lover-like  devices 
In  the  welcome  silence  of  travel,  in  the  preoccupa 
tions  of  arranging  her  winter  manage,  Miss  Hartley 
was  not  brought  face  to  face  with  herself  in  solitude. 
It  was  only  when  the  happy  admiral  was  free  to  enjoy 
his  bachelor  freedom  among  the  elastic  circles  of  his 
growing  acquaintance  that  Evelyn  Hartley  cast  up  the 
account  of  the  dying  year.  There  had  been  a  silence 
guarded  as  to  the  noble  soldier's  evident  attachment, 
and  Miss  Hartley's  tete-a-tetes  with  her  uncle  were 
only'on  the  beaten  track  of  family  affairs,  daily  amuse 
ments  or  the  delicate  topic  of  the  Rheingolds. 

The  winter's  snows  sifting  down  brought  to  the 
woman,  whose  first  romance  was  thrilling  her  heart,  a 
final  knowledge  that  her  fate  was  to  be  weighed  in  the 
balance  of  life.  A  mass  of  unanswered  letters,  the 
familiar  hand  of  Maitland,  and  her  veteran  trustee 
brought  the  question  to  her  mind  which  had  been  res 
olutely  put  away.  "What  will'Brother  Philip'  think?" 
The  waiting  anxiety  of  Lady  Isabel  for  definite  news 
of  Beauford's  still  clouded  fate  brought  back  all  her 
Vienna  days.  And  as  each  busy  week  fled  away,  she 
was  drawn  nearer  the  time  when  her  heart  told  her 
Stanislas  Oborski  would  claim  at  her  hands  the  ran 
som  of  a  life.  With  the  defensive  tactics  of  woman 
hood,  striving  to  retain  her  freedom  as  long  as  possi 
ble,  she  gave  her  days  up  to  the  galleries,  to  opera, 
dinner,  rout,  and  ball,  and  ignored  the  finger  of  Fate 
which  seemed  to  beckon  her  to  Vienna.  Magnifying 
the  obligation  which  rested  upon  her,  Evelyn  Hartley 
dared  not  analyze  her  feelings  and  resolutely  face  the 
problem  of  her  life.  Her  inevitable  submission  to  the 


264  THE  ANARCHIST 

seeming  decree  of  Fate,  was  not  inspired  by  a  frank 
confession  of  her  love  for  Stanislas  Oborski.  In  amaze 
ment  at  the  tranquillity  of  her  feelings,  she  read  the 
fateful  telegram  heralding  the  count's  arrival.  The 
words  were  significant. 

Graciously  received  by  the  Emperor.  I  am  coming  with  a 
month's  leave.  Auf  wiedersehen. 

Her  vague  desire  to  escape  from  the  present  consid 
eration  of  the  subject  soon  to  be  brought  to  her  heart, 
led  her  to  meet  all  the  arrears  of  her  correspondence. 
Beauford's  strange  destiny  seemed  to  cloud  Isabel  Dun 
ham's  life  with  unbroken  sadness.  The  English  woman 
craved  the  boon  of  final  certainty.  But  the  sphinx- 
like  Foreign  Office,  only  referred  politely  to  its 
previous  dispatches  and  enclosure. 

Alfred  Beauford  had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon  of 
death  without  a  murmur  of  the  busy  world's  notice.  He 
was  followed  only  by  the  cry  of  a  heart-stricken 
woman,  thrilled  with  the  agonies  of  a  true  lost  love! 
Judge  Fox  and  busy  Philip  Maitland,  in  their  letters 
dwelt  on  the  increasing  bitterness  of  class  divergence, 
and  the  growing  unrest  of  the  American  communities. 
Looking  to  the  right  and  left,  Evelyn  Hartley  could 
find  no  pretext  of  escape  from  the  full  and  frank  con 
sideration  of  Oborski' s  wooing. 

Her  vigils  of  the  night  before  his  arrival  left  her  at 
morn,  expectant  without  enthusiasm, and  hardly  doubt 
ful  of  the  status  into  which  she  seemed  to  glide  insen 
sibly. 

And  so  a  perfect,  but  insensible,  statue,  the  Daughter 
of  the  West  waited  for  the  touch*of  the  magician,  Love, 
which  would  wake  her  pulseless  marble  to  a  new  and 
strange  life.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  living  the  life 


THE   ANARCHIST  265 

of  another,  and  went  hand  in  hand  with  herself,  toward 
the  slowly  turning  gates  of  a  newer  life. 

The  noble  Stanislas  Oborski,  General  of  Cavalry, 
and  Knight  of  His  Imperial  Majesty's  highest  orders, 
had  expended  a  great  deal  of  patience  in  framing  a 
cipher  cablegram  which  would  bring  Carl  Stein  back 
to  Vienna.  "He  is  the  only  cool  man  I  know  on  whom 
I  can  rely,  I  will  need  a  trusty  friend  in  this  marriage. 
There  is  no  one  in  my  club  circles  who  has  Stein's 
aplomb  and  nerve.  He  will  serve  to  break  the  apparent 
chance  element  in  this  union.  Besides,  he  really  knows 
the  girl's  character.  And  as  to  the  property  and  the 
details  of  American  law,  he  is  a  past-master  of  all 
arts.  I  would  be  at  sea  without  him." 

It  indeed  cost  Carl  Stein  a  struggle  to  leave  the 
spider-web  of  his  ripening  American  schemes.  The 
severe  winter  was  augmenting  the  murmurs  of  the  dis 
satisfied  into  a  hoarse  growl  of  restless  envy.  The  pro 
fessor,  studying  the  situation  at  Milwaukee,  prayed  to 
the  God  of  Storms  for  a  bitter  inclemency  of  weather 
to  intensify  the  brooding  discontent  and  envy. 

"Curse  the  quick-witted  employers — the  easily-moved 
local  authorities,and  the  self  advertising  charity-mon 
gers!  They  are  becoming  wise  and  doling  out  graded 
relief,  mapping  out  districts  and  plotting  out  special 
classes  and  analyzing  the  causes  of  the  winter  pressure  ! 
If  they  can  throw  back  the  main  annoyance  to  the  peo 
ple  themselves,  herding  in  great  cities,  it  gives  them  a 
point  of  vantage.  What  we  do  need  is  political  work 
ers,  a  strong,  fearless  journal  and  friends  to  maintain 
and  push  our  effective  secret  propaganda. 

"Now,  even  Caroline  Hartley's  fondness  for  her  new 
flatterer,  that  tyrant  fool  Rheingold,  has  its  limits.  My 
hold  on  him  is  only  that  of  fear.'  Of  the  hundred 


266  tttE    ANARCHIST 

thousand  dollars  she  has  given  him,  we  have  had 
eighty,  he  but  twenty. 

"Something  must  be  allowed  this  vain  fool  for  dis 
play.  I  presume  he  will  now  drop  into  the  elegant 
private  vices  of  a  gentleman.  I  must  find  a  way  to 
reach  the  principal  of  her  money.  Surely  Rheingold 
would  be  satisfied  with  a  quarter  of  the  gross  amount. 
If  I  go  back  and  help  Oborski  in  his  splendid  venture, 
I  may  be  able  to. induce  Rheingold  to  act — to — "  his 
very  thoughts  were  stayed  at  the  grim  presage!  He 
rose  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  neat  brandy.  The 
unwonted  stimulant  loosened  the  tiger  element  in  the 
man.  "Bah!  What  is  one  old  Woman's  life  in  the  bat 
tle  of  our  cause?  It  is  only  discounting  nature  after 
all.  Rheingold  will  be  sure  to  keep  the  secret! 

"Fear  will  tie  him!  It  binds  where  the  clasp  of 
Love  and  and  duty  slips!  But  the  old  egoist's  will! 
I  must  prepare!" 

He  studied  over  Oborski's  cipher.  "What  can  be 
the  vital  private  matter?"  as  he  indited  his  answer 

Sail  at  once;  meet  you  at  Munich.    Go  first  to  Chemnitz, 

He  pondered  upon  the  situation  of  the  advanced 
anarchists.  "I  can  leave  the  work  in  good  hands.  With 
some  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  money,  and  a  large  block  ol 
the  mother's  estate,  we  of  the  forlorn  hope  should  not 
lack  for  ammunition  in  the  sharp  outbreak  of  next  yera. 

"It  can  not  be  delayed!  It  must  not  be!  It  will 
loosen  our  pulses!  We  can  try  the  resources  of  courts, 
sensational  journals,  and  shifty  lawyers  to  screen  any 
who  are  entangled  in  the  law.  This  Hartley  gold! 
With  it,  what  can  not  be  done  with  a  hungry  jury, 
a  facile  judge?  By  Heavens!  I  will  reach  it!  I  will 
not  wait  for  age  and  accident  to  throw  it  my  way!  I 


ANARCttiST  267 

will  assist  nature!"  He  smiled  with  a  devilish  grin  as 
he  journeyed  toward  Cleveland.  It  was  a  simple  mat 
ter  to  gain  from  Judge  Fox's  office  spy,  the  very  last 
status  of  both  interests  of  the  trust.  "It  is  fortunate  the 
interests  are  so  vast  that  confidential  subordinates  must 
know.  I  shall  soon  find  if  the  old  judge  knows  of  Miss 
Hartley's  proposed  marriage.  If  I  read  her  aright, 
and  Oborski  has  played  his  cards  well,  she  will  marry 
first, and  notify  her  trustee  later.  She  is  over  eighteen 
and  there  is  no  impediment."  Carl  Stein  gazed  on 
the  twinkling  evening  stars  from  the  car  window  and 
blessed  the  happy  chance  of  the  "Savoy"  disaster. 
"The  devil  does  take  care  of  his  own!"  he  mused. 
"Oborski's  luck  is  a  crowning  help  to  us!  If  he  cast 
well  and  throws  the  funds  toward  us,  Davidoff  may 
bring  him  up  into  the  'Higher  Council.'  But  will  the 
cool  old  Russian  cling  to  his  muscovite  creed,  'Never 
trust  a  Pole!'  He  must  yield  here.  To  Count  Obor 
ski  must  be  left  enough  to  make  a  brave  and  gallant 
show,  besides,  his  wife  to  be  has  a  cool  head  of  her 
own ! " 

Buffeting  the  winter  storms  to  hasten  to  his  fellow- 
scoundrel,  Doctor  Carl  Stein  arranged  his  plan  of 
action.  "It  may  take  some  time  to  effect  the  double 
arrangement  of  the  Rheingold  matter,  and  to  work  on 
Evelyn  Hartley.  If  I  find  my  presence  a  source  of 
suspicion,  I  can  return  to  America  and  reappear  when 
matters  are  ripe.  But  Mrs.  Rheingold  must  make 
her  will  forthwith.  Can  I  trust  her  fat-witted  hus 
band  to  handle  her  egoism?  Once  excited  by  suspi 
cion  or  secret  fear,  she  will  be  lost  to  me  forever!  He 
must  get  her  power  of  attorney,  and  she  must  be  kept 
alone!  Flattery,  continued  flattery,  the  sweet  poison 
of  womanhood — must  be  her  daily  food. 


268  THE  ANARCHIST 

"But  Evelyn,  my  bold,  bright-eyed,  aspiring  scholar, 
with  her  it  is  different.  She  is  a  shy  falcon, and  I  doubt 
even  now,  if  Oborski  has  touched  her  inner  nature. 
In  the  prime  of  her  womanhood,  her  soaring  soul  will 
be  as  far  above  him  as  the  stars  hover,  hanging  over 
the  sea." 

Count  Oborski  waited  at  Vienna  until  his  anxious 
soul  was  quieted  by  a  cipher  message  from  the  return 
ing  High  Priest  of  anarchy.  Though  dated  from  Chem 
nitz,  he  knew  from  one  key-word  that  his  superior  in 
the  order  had  met  and  conferred  with  Davidoff,  the 
dark  chief, who  lurked  behind  treble  mysteries  of  high 
committees,  and  divided  councils  of  executives,  remov 
ing  him  from  all  but  the  great  final  directory  labors  of 
the  rapidly  increasing  cult. 

Will  meet  you  now  at  Munich,  arrive  before  you. 

So  ran  the  telegram's  welcome  words. 

"This  is  cool  wisdom,"  joyously  thought  Oborsik, 
"for  the  wandering  scholar  will  precede  me.  His 
affected  astonishment  and  congratulations  will  shield 
us  both.  I  can  now  move  on  as  rapidly  as  possible  to 
the  fruition  of  this  golden  harvest.  There  shall  be  no 
time  for  reaction  if  I  can  hold  the  girl  to  her  plighted 
word.  Stein  can  quietly  watch  when  I  am  not  'en 
presence.'  No  devilish  step  must  back  me  now!  Should 
the  Polish,  German,  and  Austrian  red  brothers  have 
the  nerve  to  rise,  I  could  give  them  the  defiles  of  the 
Carpathians  as  a  fortress.  But  will  the  Italians  do  their 
part  of  great  campaign?  Spain  is  ripe  for  a  wild  tumult, 
yet  France  hems  it  in  at  the  Pyrenees.  Once  let  the 
torch  of  war  be  lit  in  Europe,  France  and  Germany 
would  clash  in  fire  and  flame  like  two  warring  thun 
der  clouds.  Only  let  the  struggle  be  general!  Only 


THE    ANARCHIST  269 

may  the  storm  sweep  afar!  Then  this  hardy  genera 
tion  may  evolve  the  man  we  need,  the  apotheosis  of 
dauntless  Bakunin. " 

Count  Oborski,  swept  along  in  enthusiasm,  forgot 
that  the  one  man  who  ever  lifted  himself  by  strength 
of  talent  over  a  warring  world  was  the  genius  of 
modern  war,  the  peerless  Corsicanl 

"And  Napoleon  Bonaparte  conquered  the  world  for 
himself!  England's  fleet  alone  stayed  the  progress 
of  the  modern  Genghis  Khan!  Napoleon  knew  no  law 
but  his  own  will.  It  cost  the  lives  of  La  Grande 
Armee  and  the  world's  throne  to  prove  that  in  the 
crush  between  natural  law  and  man's  boldest  will,  the 
mysterious  forces  of  nature  swept  down  the  heaven- 
defying  tyrant." 

Stanislas  Oborski  never  weighed  in  his  mind  the 
relative  merits  of  a  tyranny  of  despotism,  the  rule  of 
the  Ten,  the  sway  of  the  Barons,  the  graded  obliga 
tions  of  a  constitutional  monarchy,  the  equalized  press 
ure  of  an  honest  republic,  or  the  dogmatic  draconian 
brutality  of  a  communism  backed  by  terrorism, dynamite 
and  proscription  of  the  rich.  In  his  warped  nature,  as 
sassination  became  holy,  provided  only  that  the  proper 
parties  reeled  under  its  cowardly,  anonymous  blow.  It 
affected  not  his  mental  proposition  to  observe  that  in 
indifferent  communiteis,  under  varying  quarrels,  diverse 
and  widely  various  individuals  would  yield  up  their 
lives  under  the  heroic  remedy  of  destruction!  Obcrski 
had  never  seen  the  principle  of  individual  execution 
carried  to  a  crucial  test ! 

His  vindictive  mind  was  fixed  on  the  sweeping  away 
of  the  Russian  idea,  and  the  extinction  of  certain 
leading  muscovite  families.  To  his  narrow  brain,  this 
Effected,  the  whole  world  run  on  golden  wheels.  At  this 


27O  THE    ANARCHIST 

particular  epoch,  under  the  sweeping  theorem  of  Baku- 
nin,  the  wealthier  and  more  prominent  classes  of 
Germany,  France,  England  Spain,  Italy,  and  even  the 
every-day  bustling  millionaires  of  the  United  States, 
were  gloomily  doomed  to  death, for  the  general  easement 
of  the  many!  Alas!  The  extinction  of  the  superior  grade 
would  expose  in  every  land  the  next  series  of  survivors 
to  the  application  of  practical  Bakuninism  !  What  would 
happen  when  property,  the  evidence  of  crime,  or  wage- 
work — the  badge  of  slavery — would  be  abolished  in  this 
human  Golgotha,  seemed  a  distant  extreme  to  the  bit 
ter-hearted  Pole,  a  traitor  to  Austria,  a  recreant  to 
his  order,  and  merely  a  mad  wolf — a  blind  foe  of  the 
Russian  idea! 

The  abject  subjection  in  which  he  stood  to  all  men 
of  the  anarchistic  grade  of  the  ambitious  Stein  and 
the  haughty  recluse,  Davidoff,  the  awful  nature  of  his 
secret  obligations  occasionally  pricked  him  with  the 
disturbing  thought  that  he  had  set  up  an  unknown 
circle  of  masters  over  his  own  destiny,  and  that  he  had 
parted  with  the  freedom  of  creed  and  conscience  he 
once  enjoyed  under  the  conservative  Austrian  mon 
archy. 

The  fact  that  his  dignities  and  life  might  be  forfeit 
to  the  laws  of  the  monarchy  pressed  on  him,  but,  on 
the  brink  of  this  secret  struggle  to  the  death,  he 
looked  vaguely,  in  the  results  of  the  uprising  for  an 
enlargment  of  human  free-will, which  would  obliterate 
all  social  claims  of  man  on  his  fellow  man!  Creeds, 
courts,  laws,  all  differences  of  rank, station,  and  wealth, 
were  to  go  into  the  general  hotch-pot ! 

"And, after  the  readjustment  of  a  generation's  whole 
private  and  public  life,  then  what?" 

The  proud  dominion  of  a  world  by  the  untrammeled 


THE    ANARCHIST  271 

children    of   the   red    flag!     Gods    to    themselves,  and 
knowing  neither  law  nor  force! 

With  sly  cunning, Count  Stanislas  Oborski  made  no 
parade  of  his  conquest,  no  mention  of  his  intended 
voyage.  He  even  trusted  his  secret  offices  of  the  future 
entirely  to  Stein.  "I'll  leave  my  valet  here  in  charge, 
and  he  may  expect  my  daily  return,"  mused  Oborski, 
as  he  made  his  own  secret  preparations  for  an  extended 
absence.  "My  brilliant  coup  de  fortune  will  dazzle 
the  Viennese.  I  am  safe  in  any  event." 

A  half  hour  spent  in  a  necessary  examination  of  his 
private  papers,  a  few  notes  and  billets  dispatched,  left 
the  count  in  excellent  humor  for  the  particularly  rafiine 
dinner  he  enjoyed  on  the  eve  of  his  departure.  With 
a  meaning  look,  he  announced  his  absence  for  a  day 
or  more  to  the  valet,  who  was  a  cat-like  observer  of  his 
anxious  present,  as  he  had  been  an  active  assistant 
in  that  past  of  gilded  intrigue  which  made  Oborski  the 
star  of  even  the  reckless  Vienna  gallants. 

The  servitor  smiled  faintly,  and  was  silent.  His 
well-assumed  indifference  deceived  Oborski.  "I  will 
find  out  your  quest,  my  gay  master,"  was  the  instant 
decision  of  the  doubly-bound  spy, who  served  Oborski's 
doubtful  superiors  of  the  brotherhood. 

An  hour  later,  throwing  his  rich  furred  cloak  over 
his  shoulders,  Count  Stanislas  turned  to  the  servant. 
"I  shall  telegraph  you  if  I  need  you,  and  my  usual 
outfit,  leave  the  head  steward  in  charge  of  all." 

The  servant  bowed  and  opened  the  door,  as  a 
woman's  rich  voice  rang  out,  "Ife  is  here,  and  I  will 
see  him!" 

"It  is  Etelka,"  whispered  the  startled  valet. 

"Here!  Tell  her  I  am  summoned  to  the  Hof  Court 
Marshal  at  once.  Stay.  Tell  her  to  return  at  ten! 


272  THE   ANARCHIST 

By  that  time  I  will  be  away,"  he  muttered  as  the  serv 
ant  darted  out. 

"Did  she  leave  quietly  Fritz?"  queried  Oborski, 
with  some  anxiety. 

"She  will  return, and  bade  me  say  she  must  see  you, " 
gravely  answered  the  man, as  he  added:  "The  carriage 
waits." 

Stanislas  Oborski  only  composed  his  startled  nerves 
when  he  was  twenty  leagues  away  from  the  gay  cap 
ital  on  the  Danube. 

"By  the  Fiend!  I  thought  that  mad  gypsy  fool  was 
in  Persia.  She  must  not  find  out  my  whereabouts.  Ah ! 
There  is  the  devil's  work  in  this.  I  cannot  hide  my 
presence  at  Munich.1 

The  count  had  smoked  two  of  the  trabucos  from  his 
amber  shell  case,  as  he  lay,  swathed  in  his  costly  furs, 
before  he  saw  the  light. 

"She  will  clamor!  She  will  haunt  the  house  till  I 
return.  I  will  tell  all  to  Stein.  I  can  send  her  a 
dispatch  to  meet  me,  at  some  quiet  village.  Stein  can 
entice  her  into  some  lonely  place  and  we  will  keep  her 
out  of  the  way,  until  all  is  over.  Violence  would  not 
do  !  Those  devils  of  gypsies  are  world-rovers  !  Their 
dark  and  mysterious  vengeance  would  reach  me  even 
in  a  guarded  palace!  What  is  her  want?  The  uni 
versal  want  of  the  world  — high  and  low — Money!  I 
suppose!  But  if  this  devil's  tongue  is  loosened  it 
might  be  awkward!" 

As  the  cars  rushed  along  in  the  darkness  of  the  chill 
night,  Stanislas  Oborski  shivered  slightly.  The 
shadow  of  evil  deeds,  the  memories  ~f  unredressed 
wrongs  unsettled  his  nerves! 

Yet,  trusting  to  his  ready  wit,  and  the  secret  aid  of 
Stein,he  sped  along  to  the  fruition  of  his  golden  fort 
unes. 


THE   ANARCHIST  273 

When  a  veiled  woman  sharply  rapped  at  the  doors 
of  the  count's  private  apartment  that  night,  the  heavy 
bell  of  St.  Stephen's  was  booming  ten.  Though  muffled 
in  black,  her  elastic  form  and  quick,  swaying  movement 
sufficiently  indicated  the  Bohemienne.  The  door  opened 
and  the  impassive  valet  appeared. 

"The  count!"  hissed  the  woman,  pushing  him  roughly 
aside. 

"Has  given  you  the  slip,  my  Gitafia!"  said  the  smil 
ing  rogue,  who  served  a  rogue. 

The  wandering  star  of  night,  whom  Oborski  spoke 
of  as  "Etelka,  "  threw  herself  in  a  chair  and  gloomily 
eyed  the  valet.  "You  are  as  great  a  liar  as  he!  It  is 
useless  to  ask  you  whither  he  has  gone!  I  will  follow 
him  to  Iceland,  but  I  will  find  him.  It  is  the  order 
of  the  Tribe!"  Her  piercing  eyes  searched  the  serv 
ant's  sunny  countenance. 

"Pray  be  civil,  now,  most  stormy  Ftelka!"  said  the 
servitor.  "I  may  do  you  a  favor!  Not  for  the  love  of 
your  own  bold,  saucy  face.  The  Vienna  girls  are  more 
civil  than  you  sprites  of  the  wood!  I  detest  storm  and 
fury.  But  it  suits  me  to  have  my  master  watched!  I 
love  him  too  much  to  lose  him  from  sight,  and  he  has 
given  me  the  the  slip  as  well  as  you!  To  be  brief,  what 
will  you  give  to  know  where  he  is?  You  can  find  out 
his  game  yourself.  I  know  you  are  at  home  in  any 
hamlet  from  Cadiz  to  Petersburg,  from  the  Golden 
Horn  to  heavy  Hamburg!  But  you  shall  cross  my  palm 
this  time!"  He  smiled  viciously  as  the  tortured  woman 
seized  him  roughly  by  the  wrist. 

"Softly!  You  impudent  baggage!"  he  cried,  shak 
ing  her  off.  "Five  hundred  florins  is  my  price!  You 
can  frighten  it  out  of  him?" 

"Explain!"    said    Etelka,    resting    against    a   heavy 


274  THE    ANARCHIST 

table,  and  toying  with  a  long, silver-mounted  Armenian 
dagger.  "Is  it  worth  it!  How  will  I  know  you  do  not 
lie!  You  can  set  a  trap!  If  you  set  one  for  me,  the 
gypsy  knife  will  find  its  way  to  your  black  heart !"  She 
flashed  the  sharp  blade  before  his  astonished  eyes. 

"Listen!  Don't  be  a  fool!  If  you  had  ever  any  self- 
control,  you  could  have  managed  Oborski.  He  is 
afraid  of  you,  you  handsome  she-devil!  I  set  an  old 
yager,  a  friend  of  mine  on  his  track,  and  gave  him 
money  to  follow  him.  By  ten  to-morrow,  I  will  have 
a  token  dispatch  to  tell  me  where  he  is!  I  think  he 
has  sneaked  away  to  marry  the  great  American  prin 
cess  from  over  the  sea,  the  woman  who  has  mountains 
of  money.  Now,  rave  as  you  will,  five  hundred  florins 
in  gold  alone  will  take  you  to  him.  Be  reasonable  and 
I  can  help  you!  Pay  me  half  now  and  I  will  tell 
you!'' 

Etelka,  the  Bohemienne,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  tore 
a  blazing  jewel  from  her  finger.  "He  gave  me  that!" 
she  fiercely  said.  "I'll  ransom  it  in  the  morning! 
Speak!  Tell  me  all!" 

"He  will  surely  give  me  directions  about  you  !  He 
is  a  wary  fox.  Now,  I  will  answer  him  that  you  have 
disappeared  disconsolate  and  in  quiet.  If  you  wish, 
I  will  say  that  you  come  every  second  day  to  ask  for 
his  return.  This  will  throw  him  off  his  guard.  I  know 
you  are  as  cunning  as  a  weasel.  Guard  yourself  and 
watch  him,  then  come  back  to  me  if  you  need  help. 

"He  may  order  me  and  all  his  luggage  to  the  desti 
nation  he  has  chosen.  You  can  spoil  his  game,or  make 
him  pay  a  rich  forfeit.  Shall  we  watch  him  together?" 

Gypsy  Etelka's  dark  eyes  burned  into  his  very  soul. 
The  serving  man  shuddered.  "You  will  do  no  mad 
thing!  Only  hold  me  safe!" 


THE    ANARCHIST  275 

She  tossed  back  her  willful  head.  Her  veil  thrown 
aside  showed  a  face  of  witching  beauty,  with  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  mountain  clans  in  its  strange  loveliness. 

"I  trust  you  now,  because  you  fear  me  !  I  will  come. 
You  shall  have  your  gold.  Beware,  though,  of  a  gypsy 
vengeance. " 

Tossing  her  dark  scarf  over  her  shapely  head,  she 
made  an  imperious  gesture.  The  sly  scoundrel  held 
his  breath  as  she  glided  out  of  the  count's  palace. 

"She's  an  uncanny  devil,  she  takes  my  breath  away!" 
Fritz  grumbled  as  he  discussed  a  flask  of  Burgundy. 
Throwing  on  a  cloak,  he  muffled  his  face.  "Now  for  my 
masters — and — more  gold!"  He  went  out  in  the  night 
to  betray  Oborski  a  second  time! 

While  Doctor  Carl  Stein  and  Count  Stanislas  Obor 
ski  talked  with  bated  breath  next  day,  in  a  parlor  of 
the  "Belle  Etoile"  at  Munich,  the  gypsy  in  a  peasant 
disguise  was  speeding  to  the  scene.  Oborski's  greedy 
valet  smiled  as-  he  secreted  the  five  hundred  florins. 
"She  forgot  to  ask  for  the  ring,  in  her  haste  to  be  off! 
1  will  work  on  this  gold  mine,  for  I  am  to  be  on  the 
scene.  It  is  then  the  American!  Etelkawill  demand 
a  heavy  price  for  silence!  It  must  needs  be!  Let  him 
pay!  The  American  bourgeoise  has  mountains  of{ 
gold!" 

Far  away  over  the  wild  green  Atlantic,  surging  in 
its  wintry  wrath,  lashed  by  the  flail  of  the  Storm 
King,  in  the  good  city  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  certain 
good  men  and  true,  a  junta  of  wiseacres,  communed 
over  the  unsatisfactory  state  of  the  body  politic.  True, 
no  distinctly  anarchistic  outbreak  had  occurred,  but 
bloody  strikes,  train  robberies, increasing  violent  crimes, 
and  a  whirlwind  of  lurid  threats  in  open  meeting, 


276  THE    ANARCHIST 

spoke  of  a  dangerous  underlying  mob  feeling.  The 
tramp  and  the  vagrant  element  were  daily  more  sullen 
and  morose,  and  the  howl  of  bodies  of  alien  laborers, 
temporarily  idle,  joined  to  the  growl  of  the  over 
crowded  winter  slums  of  the  greater  cities. 

The  public  was  already  familiar  with  the  demand 
that  the  State  should  offer  a  general  support  of 
uncertain  duration.  Extremest  reformers  called  for  the 
graded  assessment  in  contribution  of  the  known  rich, 
and  wild-eyed,  long-haired,  enthusiasts  in  lyceum 
halls,  and  Sunday -night  assemblies  openly  advocated 
"taking  by  force,"  and  parades  en  masse,  under  the 
banner  "Bread  or  Blood!"  Sporadic  exhibitions  of 
singular  pulpit  oratory,  aided  the  senseless  clatter,in 
which  oratorical  frenzies,  the  duty  of  the  rich  to  divest 
themselves  at  once  of  their  accursed  wealth  was  loudly 
urged  by  preachers  enjoying  substantial  salaries,  grad 
ing  up  to  financial  fatness. 

The  vagueness  of  the  reformers  in  distinctly  declar 
ing  who  should  take,  and  defining  the  locality  of  dep 
redation,  and  amount  of  force  suited  to  the  awkward 
times,  was  matched  by  the  similar  quandary,  as  to 
who  should  furnish  the  bread  and  whose  blood  was 
particularly  demanded.  The  impassive  calmness  of 
the  rich  who  returned  to  their  Monday  avocations,  and 
did  not  shed  off  their  riches,  added  to  the  general  fail 
ure  of  these  impassioned  appeals  to  the  turbulent! 

In  the  junta  of  wiseacres,  the  grave-faced  business 
men  of  Cleveland  listened  patiently  to  the  general 
complaint,  and  joined  in  the  consensus  of  opinion  that 
"Something  must  be  done!"  In  all  the  phases  of  dis 
cussion,  secret  and  public,  from  the  imported  veteran 
agitator  up  to  the  Bank  president,  gravely  addressing 
the  wiseacres,  the  most  extended  generalities  marked 


THE    ANARCHIST  277 

the  arguments  of  rich  and  poor.  All  the  proposed 
remedies  were  suited  to  a  theoretical  class*  of  suffer 
ing,  produced  by  certain  causes  mathematically  set 
forth  in  different  social  equations,  by  the  speakers  who 
effectively  consumed  both  time  and  patience. 

When  the  last  sober  eyed  capitalist  had  skirmished 
over  the  ground,  Philip  Maitland  was  called  upon  to 
answer  for  his  committee.  "I  can  not  go  into  causes  or 
effects,"  he  said,  in  a  forcible  way,  "but  I  can  report 
conditions.  The  actual  situation  is  more  pitiful  daily. 
Houses  of  leading  citizens  are  placarded  with  threats, 
robberies,  small  and  large,  are  increasing,  and 
pilfering  is  unbounded.  It  seems  that  there  is  a  blank 
in  our  National  and  State  institutions  with  regard  to 
the  legal  assistance  of  the  deserving,  unless  some 
bridge  of  inferiority  or  taunt  of  pauperism  embitters 
the  dole.  It  certainly  would  regulate  and  economize 
relief  to  have  it  directed  by  governmental  inspectors, 
with  power  to  meet  unusual  stress  with  instant  and 
generous  help.  This  would  fairly  distribute  the  bur 
den,  and  make  the  aid  available  before  suffering  had 
driven  the  needy  to  crime  or  despair!  As  this  seems 
impossible,  at  the  present,  the  strain  is  thrown  upon 
individual  beneficence,  and  when  this  is  not  forth 
coming,  some  form  of  forcible  demand  or  terrorism 
must  finally  result.  As  to  the  positive  demand  of  the 
ultra-socialist,  for  the  state  to  insure  the  individual 
careers  of  its  citizens,  good  or  bad,  that  is  the  crown 
ing  folly  of  hare-brained  theorists.  The  lesson  of  the 
hour  is  of  charity,  and  gentle  consideration  for  the 
needy,  that  appeals  to  those  who  are  able  to  give, and 
urges  them  to  open  heart,  purse,  and  hand!  . 

"The  civic  duty  of  the  hour  to  watch  over  peace  and 
property,  to  sternly  repress  criminal  violence, will  be 


THE   ANARCHIST 

performed  by  the  regular  officials,  backed  by  our  now 
thoroughly  alert  citizen  soldiery.  I  venture  to  say  that 
your  efforts  in  providing  for  distress,  joined  with  our 
watchfulness  in  maintaining  quiet,  are  as  effective 
measures  as  can  be  devised  at  present.  I  have  visited 
in  a  serious  mood,  the  assemblies  of  the  socialistic 
reformers.  I  see  no  evidence  in  their  plans  or  demeanor 
of  a  fitness  to  introduce  more  equity,  activity, 
or  brotherly  feeling  into  the  world,  than  our  present 
system  of  self-reliant  individualism  under  the  law, 
backed  by  a  fostered  sympathy  between  classes.  In 
other  words,  the  failure  of  every  communistic  attempt 
at  practical  reform  leads  me  to  distrust  their  theo 
ries,  while  the  behavior  of  the  disciples  leads  me  to 
despise  them  as  a  class  of  loose  enthusiasts  led  on  by 
artful  demagogues.  I  feel  that  all  respectable  trades 
and  secret  societies  will  assist  in  preserving  order  in 
case  of  trouble.  Here,  as  in  all  similar  cases,  the 
apathy  of  the  defined  classes  of  wealthy  women  to  gen 
eral  suffering  shows  that  element  of  the  sex  to  be  less 
accessible  to  tenderness  than  their  more  modest  sis 
ters.  Fashion  seems  to  harden  the  feminine  heart 
unduly.  The  demands  for  specific  concessions,  by 
anarchistic  leaders,  are  no  more  than  the  black-mail 
of  La  Mafia.  The  general  complaint  of  home  laborers 
that  our  land  is  not  as  rich  a  harvest-field  for  them 
as  formerly,  should  be  hseded.  Our  national  resources 
and  opportunities  for  easily  remunerative  work  have 
been  exhausted  by  the  inpouring  of  Europe's  most 
undesirable  classes.  From  them,  and  their  succesors, 
arises  the  howl  of  disappointment  now. 

"The  fact  is,"  concluded  Maitland,  "in  face  of  the 
growing  competition  of  life  the  effort  to  live  easily, 
without  useful  pursuits,  assisting  production,  is  daily 


THE    ANARCHIST  279 

more  difficult.  To  those  who  stand  idle  in  the  vineyard 
of  life  will  be  brought  home  sturdy  Captain  John 
Smith's  remark  to  the  idle  English  gentry:  'Those 
who  do  not  work  shall  not  eat?  In  these  later  days 
the  right  to  live  in  peace  and  have  a  quiet  opportu 
nity  of  bread-winning  is  all  the  State  can  safely 
assume.  As  to  the  wars  and  competition  of  classes, 
England  and  the  United  States  offer  a  fair  play  and  a 
broad  system  of  justice  to  the  individual — beyond 
that,  the  children  of  men  must  bear  the  natural  bur 
den  of  humanity  and  look  out  for  themselves! 

"Life  is  too  serious  to  trifle  away  our  national 
existence  in  trying  to  make  America  one  vast  kinder 
garten  of  individual  coddling. 

"The  slow  and  mysterious  mending  of  the  general 
disturbances  of  the  community  are  the  result  of  time, 
patience,  kindliness,  and  forbearance.  It  is  my  belief 
no  new  principle  in  practical  government  will  be  suc 
cessfully  applied  until  human  nature  drops  its  strug 
gling  manhood,  and  attains  the  delightful  ideal  of 
angelic  purity.  I  fancy,  however,  the  aggregate  virtue 
of  the  human  race  is  nearly  a  fixed  quantity.  Let  us 
all  watch  at  our  posts  of  duty,  and  answer  the  chal 
lenge  of  marauders  from  any  quarter  with  firm  ranks, 
and  a  cry  of  'God  save  the  Commonwealth!'" 

The  junta  of  wiseacres,  there  being  no  further  bus 
iness,  voted  thanks  to  the  various  speakers,  adjourned 
without  doing  anything,  and,  well-pleased,  went  home 
to  its  dinners  ! 

The  suffering  poor,  as  usual,  contented  itself  with 
crusts,  or  went  without  the  cheerful  meal  the  wiseacres 
relished! 

The  sun  of  prosperity  glittered  over  the  pathway  of 
the  noble  Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  as  he  went  into 


28o  THE    ANARCHIST 

the  presence  of  the  woman  whose  hand  was  to  be  the 
royal  reward  of  her  chivalric  savior.  With  rare  tact,  he 
had  notified  her  of  his  arrival,  and  bade  her  signify 
her  pleasure  as  to  his  reception.  Desirous  of  plying 
his  arts  of  fascination  undisturbed,  he  had  succeeded 
in  drawing  forth  Admiral  Walton  by  the  social  arts  of 
Doctor  Carl  Stein.  The  old  Englishman  fell  easily 
into  Oborski's  snare.  Too  proud  to  question  others 
as  to  his  sister's  daily  life,  he  hastened  to  learn  from 
Carl  Stein  the  latest  news  of  the  newly-planted  noble 
family  of  Chemnitz. 

So  it  was,  alone,  in  her  stately  home,  robed  richly  as  if 
for  a  state  ceremony,  that  the  elated  noble'poured  forth 
to  Evelyn  Hartley  the  artful  eloquence  of  his  nature. 
Count  Stanislas  was  largely  aided  by  the  unvarying 
persistence  with  which  he  had  sought  the  American's 
love.  Mere  iteration,  and  the  manly  vigor  and  impuls 
ive  ardor  of  his  wooing  had  awakened  a  certain  sense 
of  response  in  the  womanly  nature  of  the  foreign  beauty. 
Her  passivity  was  a  result  of  a  final  fatigue  in  men 
tal  resistance,  and  the  decisive  answer  which  could 
not  be  delayed,  now  that  a  Hapsburg  had  given  his 
brilliant  general  the  royal  permission  to  woo,  was 
dictated  by  the  obligation  of  a  life  so  gallantly  saved. 

There  was  a  shadowy  coronet  circling  over  Miss 
Hartley's  fair  brows,  when  in  answer  to  his  most  im 
passioned  appeals  for  an  early  union,  the  heiress  fixed 
one  month  later  as  the  day  when,  the  ardent  lover  might 
claim  her  hand.  Born  of  a  loveless  union,  nurtured 
almost  in  solitude,  without  a  near  view  of  the  swaying 
transports  of  affection,  and  shaded  with  the  trials  of 
her  opening  womanhood,  love  was  a  veiled  God  to  the 
lonely  woman.  Face  to  face  with  the  rosy  God  she 
had  not  been,  there  was  over  her  no  "breath  of  life's 


THE  ANARCHIST  281 

ambrosial    morning  wherein  love  shook  the  dew-drops 
from  his  glancing  hair.'6 

Self  devoted  as  a  silent  queen,  she  plighted  her 
troth  to  the  brilliant  noble,  and  vaguely  wondered 
what  future  life  lay  before  her  when  the  bridal  veil  had 
been  lifted. 

In  the  gallant  preoccupations  of  his  lover-like  atten 
tions,  Oborski  failed  to  note  the  unawakened  state  of 
the  girl's  innermost  heart.  Elate  with  a  tangible  vic 
tory,  he  paused  not  to  question  her  lack  of  personal 
enthusiasm. 

While  the  Polish  noble  discussed  gravely  with  Doc 
tor  Stein  the  future  opened  by  the  approaching  union, 
Admiral  Horatio  Walton  listened  in  grave  concern  to 
Evelyn  Hartley's  announcement  of  her  approaching 
marriage.  Secretly  pleased,  he  had  yet  to  consider  her 
interests.  "You  will  surely  have  the  fullest  counsel  of 
Judge  Fox  before  yielding  up  your  American  citizen 
ship,"  he  said,  thoughtful  of  her  wealth  and  its  future 
destination. 

"It  is  for  that  reason  I  have  decided  to  delay  the 
marriage  a  month,  and  I  wrote  in  fullest  terms 
to-night." 

Doctor  Stein  sat  in  profound  thought  in  the  vine- 
shaded  arbors  of  the  "Hotel  Belle  Etoile"  and  pondered 
upon  the  success  of  his  schemes.  "With  these  fortunes 
to  draw  on,  I  may  in  turn  supplant  Davidoff.  Money 
is  a  power,  at  least,  the  golden  lever  to  move  the 
world.  It  will  be  so  until  accumulation  is  impossible, 
until  one  code  governs  men!  Until  then,  it  is  the 
weapon  of  the  strong.  Thanks  to  my  counsels,  Rhein- 
gold  has  persuaded  his  wife  to  the  preparation  of  a 
will  giving  him  the  share  of  Fortune's  favors  she 
exacted  of  her  unloved  first  husband. 


282  THE   ANARCHIST 

"She'  may  not  live  long,"  he  scowled,  "but  the 
wealth  will  pass  into  the  right  hands."  Even  as  he 
sat,  in  the  quiet  necessary  to  his  self-commune,  he 
was  struck  by  the  graceful  air  of  a  woman  passing 
through  the  garden. 

"She  has  the  proud  bearing  of  a  gypsy  queen,  a  true 
Bohemienne, "  he  noted,  as  the  woman,  with  graceful, 
springy  step  was  lost  in  the  crowd  of  loungers. 

Etelka  had  located  her  quarry,  for  the  count,  reas 
sured  by  the  lies  of  his  valet,  had  telegraphed  to  that 
functionary,  who  arrived  to  share  his  master's  stay. 

After  the  return  of  Count  Oborski  from  the  opera, 
where  he  dreamed  of  the  future,  while  under  the 
charm  of  the  pleading,  passionate  music,  the  happy 
Pole  .sat  in  late  converse  with  Doctor  Stein.  The 
approach  of  his  factotum  with  a  telegraph  dispatch 
which  he  handed  to  Stein,  aroused  the  lover. 

"It  is  marked  'Important — Answer.'  Shall  I  wait, 
sir?"  The  skilled  servitor  had  brought  blank  forms  and 
writing  material. 

Stanislas  Oborski  sprang  forward  in  astonishment, 
as  Stein,  with  an  imprecation,  dashed  down  the  mes 
sage. 

"Furies  of  Hell!  This  is  a  stroke  of  Fate!"  the 
leader  cried,  as  Oborski  calmly  read  the  dispatch. 
It  was  from  Rheingold  and  read: 

Come  at  once.  My  wife  found  dead,  sitting  in  her  garden- 
chair  this  afternoon.  Apoplexy.  Business  advice  needed. 

It  was  signed  Baron  von  Rheingold. 

"The  will  was  being  prepared  in  London.  I  hardly 
know  if  it  could  have  been  signed.  I  fear  not!"  hissed 
Stein,  his  set  teeth  lending  his  stony  face  an  air  of 
ferocity.  "It  is  a  crushing  blow." 


THE   ANARCHIST  283 

"And  Miss  Hartley  will  defer  her  wedding,  certainly, 
I  fear!"  sadly  rejoined  Count  Oborski,  mindful  of 
continental  usages.  "It  throws  our  whole  interests  in 
jeopardy." 

It  was  in  anxious  unrest  and  brooding  dissatisfac 
tion  that  the  magnificent  Count  Sanislas  Oborski  strove 
to  cheer  his  promised  bride.  Stein  had  thoroughly 
informed  him  of  every  relation  of  mother  and  daughter. 
In  her  chastened  sorrow,  her  increased  loneliness, 
Evelyn  Hartley  bade  her  lover  await  her  at  Munich, 
for  Doctor  Stein  transmitted  the  request  of  Baron  von 
Rheingold  to  Admiral  Walton  to  come,  and  to  bring 
his  niece  that  she  might  be  face  to  face  once  more  with 
the  mother  whose  voice  would  never  again  be  raised 
in  bitterness.  Count  Oborski,  chafing  alone  at  Munich, 
knew  not  that  he  was  dogged  at  night  by  Etelka, 
now  a  silent  spy,  and  in  the  day,  by  a  keen  gypsy  lad, 
a  strolling  musician.  With  a  sense  of  defeat,  Count 
Oborski  welcoming  Evelyn  Hartley  and  her  uncle 
back,  heard  the  astounded  admiral  re-read  a  telegraphic 
summons,  waiting  his  return  from  his  sister's  lawyers. 
Stein  had  failed,  for  the  telegram  read: 

Come  to  London  at  once.  Your  sister's  previous  will  makes 
you  her  sole  heir. 


BOOK  IV 

THE  SPORT  OF  THE  GODS 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  CUP  OF  TANTALUS — BARON  VON  RHEINGOLD'S  STRUG 
GLE.  JUDGE  FOX  SENDS  A  MEDIATOR EVELYN  HART 
LEY'S  STRANGE  VISITOR — FROM  THE  DEAD THE  PERSIAN 

MINISTER. — STEIN'S    QUARREL — LADY  ISABEL'S  MISSION 

Miss  HARTLEY  returned  in  silence  to  Munich,  shad 
owed  with  a  dull  sorrow  which  had  no  silver  gleams 
in  its  sable  habiliments. 

The  constraint  of  her  surroundings  at  Chemnitz,  the 
leering  civility  of  Rheingold,  then  an  expectant  heir, 
and  the  perfunctory  display  of  the  dead  woman's  obse 
quies,  all  jarred  upon  her  nature  now  moved  to  its 
depths.  Every  link  joining  her  to  the  old  life  seemed 
to  have  been  severed  by  the  death  of  the  mother  whose 
lips  would  never  utter  now  a  word  of  tender  regret 
for  her  daughter's  shadowed  girlhood. 

Caroline  Hartley  died  in  the  height  of  the  cold, 
untiring  egotis  m,  and  lay  unmourned  and  unregretted 
in  the  marble  crypt  carved  for  others !  There  was  a 
resentment  in  the  young  girl's  eyes  as  she  noted  the 
haughty  air  of  mastery  assumed  by  Baron  von  Rhem- 
gold.  Doctor  Carl  Stein,  with  well-assumed  gravity, 
threw  a  decorous  shade  upon  the  meeting  of  the 
unforgiving  admiral  with  the  German  parvenu.  Stein 

284 


THE  ANARCHIST  285 

vanished  when  the  funeral  ceremonies  were  over,  and 
was  deep  in  confidential  plotting,  with  Count  Stanis 
las  Oborski  before  the  uncle  and  niece  soberly  returned 
to  Munich.  The  old  soldier  was  reticent  on  the  return 
trip.  He  could  not  twist  his  nature  to  utter  platitudes 
which  he  knew  Evelyn  would  resent  in  her  heart. 
Secretly  busied  with  his  wonderment  as  to  the  dispo 
sition  of  the  dead  woman's  estate,  Walton,  world-worn 
as  he  was,  felt  a  haunting  sadness  when  he  realized 
how  far  apart  the  motive  of  self-interest  had  carried 
the  brother  and  sister  of  fifty  years  ago!  The  half 
hour  which  he  spent  alone,  gazing  on  the  silent  feat 
ures  of  his  sister,  brought  back  kindly  thoughts  of  the 
bright-eyed  child  who  ran,  in  happy  frolic,  over  the 
velvet  lawns  of  Yorkshire  to  meet  him,  when,  a  happy- 
hearted  boy,  he  first  put  a  middy's  uniform  on!  To 
the  old  sailor,  worn  with  his  most  unwelcome  excur 
sion,  shocked  with  the  snapping  of  the  last  twig  of 
the  family  tree  of  his  generation,  the  blunt  dispatch 
of  the  solicitors  brought  a  magical  change  of  feeling. 
Before  Oborski  had  courteously  handed  the  paper  to 
Evelyn  Hartley,  Caroline  Walton  became  a  canonized 
saint  in  the  admiral's  eyes.  "My  poor  sister!  She 
was  true  at  heart!"  he  thought,  with  a  strange  access 
of  tenderness,  and  the  delicious  sense  of  easily  acquired 
fortune  thrilled  his  every  vein,  as  he  remarked,  with 
a  grandeur  foreign  to  his  usual  manner:  "I  must  nat 
urally  go  at  once  to  London."  His  eye  fell  on  the 
Count's  startled  face.  It  recalled  him  to  the  conve 
nances.  "While  I  can  not  delay,  do  you  not  think  Lady 
Isabel  would  make  you  a  visit  of  a  few  weeks?"  he 
said  meaningly  to  the  heiress.  "I  must  make  some 
fitting  future  arrangements  for  you."  Miss  Hartley 
calmly  returned  the  telegram, 


286  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Pray  act  at  once,  as  you  wish,  dear  uncle.  I  have 
asked  the  Baroness  Driesen  and  her  two  daughters  to 
remain  with  me  for  a  time.  They  arrive  this  even 
ing!" 

Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  with  the  tact  of  a  cavalier, 
retired  at  once,  after  offering  the  admiral  his  friendly 
service.  In  the  heightened  consideration  of  the  noble, 
Walton  observed  that  he  was  now  ranked  as  a  per 
sonage!  Accident,  the  freak  of  a  woman  angered  at 
her  only  child,  a  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel,  and  he  the 
old  wrinkled  veteran,  was  presto  !  The  object  of  the  def 
erence  of  men,  the  regard  of  society,  and  the  smiles  of 
blushing  beauty  even  waited  for  him! 

Wonderful  witchery  of  money!  Blest  glamour  of  gold ! 
It  smoothes  the  wrinkles  of  age,  and  softens  every 
asperity  on  life's  road! 

The  admiral  was  ten  years  younger,  as  he  said  to  the 
bewildered  girl:  "This  German  fellow  will  be  simply 
raving  !  Caroline  must  have  made  her  will  before  the 
marriage!  I  must  go  at  once!  He  will  make  every  fight 
for  the  retention  of  the  continental  property." 

Oppressed  by  the  death  of  her  mother,  weighed  down 
with  the  heavy  inertia  of  the  feelings  toward  her 
accepted  lover,  left  alone  with  no  bounding  current 
of  hopeful  heart-desire  wakening  her  to  life,  Evelyn 
Hartley  suffered  her  now  eager  guardian  to  depart  with 
no  congratulation  upon  his  access  of  fortune.  The 
admiral's  packing  was  punctuated  with  exclamatory 
remarks  which  proved  that  the  wine  of  life  was  bub 
bling  in  his  veins!  It  was  only  when  en  route  that 
he  suddenly  reflected  his  niece  had  been  unmoved  in 
the  most  joyous  surprise  of  his  life!  "She  is  a  good 
girl,  Evelyn.  A  trifle  cold,  but  an  honor  to  her  blood. " 

The  glee  with  which   Admiral  Walton  hastened   to 


THE  ANARCHIST  287 

London  did  not  prevent  him  (now  quick  in  a  new  busi 
ness  sagacity)  from  directing  telegrams  with  details 
to  await  him  at  Paris. 

While  Evelyn  Hartley  put  away  her  private  cares, 
in  the  reception  of  the  guests  on  whose  gentle  woman 
hood  she  leaned  in  her  heart  loneliness,  in  a  bower  of 
the  "Belle  Etoile, "  Doctor  Carl  Stein  and  the  anxious 
lover  sat  in  excited  conclave. 

"This  is  a  maddening  blow!  Rheingold  will  be  fran 
tic!"  said  the  baffled  anarchist.  "How  far  she  had 
yielded  her  heart  and  confidence  to  him  I  knew  not, 
but  I  had  hoped  she  had  already  admitted  him  to  her 
will!  Curse  her  infernal  egotism!  She  never  thought 
she  could  die!  I  fear  he  has  lavished  most  of  her  honey 
moon  presents  on  this  absurd  display!  Now,  he  is 
utterly  useless  to  me.  I  will  have  to  go  to  London  and 
verify  every  detail.  Wait  here  while  I  send  him  a 
dispatch.  I  must  call  on  him  liberally  for  funds." 

While  the  defeated  schemer  lingered  at  the  Bureau, 
Stanislas  Oborski  felt  a  sudden  doubt  as  to  his  own 
position.  "Would  Walton,  now  rich  enough  to  shine 
even  in  English  court  circles,  have  other  views  for  the 
Cleveland  heiress? 

"Nothing  is  secure  in  this  world  until  under  bond 
and  seal!  I  must  watch  Evelyn  day  and  night.  This 
accursed  delay!  What  if  she  were  to  change  her  mind? 
//  is  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  womanhood!  Neither 
obligation  nor  honor  will  stay  a  headstrong  woman's 
last  mood!" 

With  a  sudden  inspiration,  he  motioned  to  his  man, 
who  always  hovered  within  call. 

"Tell  me!  Have  you  heard  aught  of  Etelka?  I 
must  not  have  any  of  her  mad  tricks  here!  Where  is 
she?" 


288  THE    ANARCHIST 

Oborski  well  knew  that  he  was  under  *that  servant 
espionage  which  never  quits  master  or  mistress  by  night 
or  day.  This  fellow  would  know  by  the  secret  intelli 
gence  bureau  all  underlings  maintain. 

"Hofer  wrote  me  she  was  not  in  Vinena — at  least 
not  in  her  usual  haunts.  He  says  she  is  one  of 
the  star  singers  at  Petersburg — on  the  Islands!" 
Oborski  winced,  as  the  wild  magic  of  her  unrivaled 
gypsy  songs  returned  to  him. 

"Very  well  "  said  the  impassive  master,  "but  warn 
me  at  once  if  she  should  find  me  out  here.  You  have 
not  seen  her,  Fritz?" 

"Never  since  you  failed  to  return,"  said  the  inspira 
tional  liar,  whose  nerve  was  as  cool  as  his  master's. 

At  that  very  moment  Etelka  was  chafing  in  the  nec 
essary  day  seclusion  maintained  by  her,  over  the  cold 
faithlessness  of  the  Polish  general.  Mingling  in  the 
throng  at  the  station,  warned  by  the  valet  spy,  she 
had  gazed  on  the  beauty  of  Evelyn  Hartley.  "The 
lady  is  dream  lovely,"  the  poor  girl  faltered,  "and  has 
gold!  But  she  shall  never  be  Oborski' s  bride  if  she 
had  all  the  gold  of  the  Kaiser." 

An  invincible  hatred  of  Stein  burned  in  her  rebel 
lious  blood.  Day  by  day,  crouching,  spying,  follow 
ing  deftly,  she  tracked  the  associates.  Her  blood  was 
heightened  by  the  daily  recitals  of  the  treacherous 
valet.  The  whole  story  of  Oborski's  wooing  was  now 
conned  in  her  heart.  How  to  achieve  a  victory,  where 
to  deliver  the  blow  of  vengeance,  when  to  strike,  the 
maddened  gypsy  beauty  could  not  determine.  But  in 
her  cards,  in  the  stars,  in  the  mystic  lore  of  her  tribe, 
in  the  oft-told  fortunes  of  the  old  beldame  queen  she  had 
crouched  before,  she  saw  that  Oborski  was  still  under 
the  spell  the  tribe  laid  on  him, 


THE    ANARCHIST  289 

When  she  learned  that  the  marriage  was  only  deferred, 
she  clenched  her  hands  in  agony  of  doubt,  until  the 
nails  drew  streaming  blood  from  her  swarthy  palms.  "I 
will  send  for  Melchior. "  Melchior,  king  of  the  Car 
pathian  gypsies,  was  a  man  of  mystic  power,  and  his 
dark  scowl  covered  secrets  to  strike  the  boldest  with 
fear.  He  had  a  fierce  tenderness  for  the  Star  of  the 
Bohemiennes,  and  the  reckless  girl  knew  how  to  set 
his  quicksilver  blood  dancing  in  every  throbbing  vein. 

Stein,  in  the  haste  of  his  departure,  did  not  neglect 
to  veil  his  movements  from  Walton.  "I  will  go  to 
Granville  and  Southampton  and  keep  quiet  in  Lon 
don.  I  will  find  a  way  to  get  the  details  of  the  situa 
tion  in  England.  Then  I  shall  hasten  back  to  Rhein- 
gold  at  Chemnitz.  He  has  no  official  news  yet.  But, 
Count,  on  you  hangs  now  the  awful  responsibility  of 
making  no  mistake."  He  whispered  a  few  words  in 
Oborski's  ear  which  made  the  dauntless  Pole  blanch. 
There  was  more  than  a  sybarite's  ambition,  more  than 
a  fortune-hunter's  future  depending  on  Evelyn  Hart 
ley's  marriage! 

"Should  this  news  prove  to  be  true,  we  have  lost  one 
half.  See  to  it  that  you  do  not  fail!  Watch  her  night 
and  day!  You  will  have  two  weeks  before  this  old  man 
will  return.  Follow  her  every  movement.  Without 
obtrusion,  fill  her  softened  mood  with  your  daily  ten 
derness!  Tho  crisis  of  your  life  is  at  hand,  it  is  an 
hour  of  moment  to  our  cause!  I  will  telegraph  you 
my  every  movement.  The  moment  of  my  return  to 
Chemnitz  will  be  signaled.  We  must  succeed  here! 
This  girl's  money  is  vital  to  our  projected  American 
struggle!  Not  even  life  shall  stand  between  us  and 
victory.  If  you  need  me,  call.  I  will  come  on  the 
instant!" 


THE    ANARCHIST 

He  was  gone,  and  a  sense  of  gloomy  unrest  fell  over 
Count  Oborski's  mercurial  nature.  The  spectre  of 
Etelka  seemed  to  haunt  his  wakeful  hours,  and  visit 
him  in  sleep.  "I  will  send  down  to  Vienna  and  find 
out  more  about  this  will-o'-the-wisp."  His  unrest  van 
ished  when  his  valet  returned  with  a  confirmation  of 
the  gypsy  girl's  disappearance. 

"Some  other  lover?"  he  mentally  queried,  but  a 
strange  twinge  of  conscience  told  him  "No!  She  is 
only  hiding  her  heartbreak  after  the  manner  of  her 
tribe."  And  his  haunting  fear  confirmed  the  voice  of 
his  heart. 

Busied,  day  by  day,  in  assiduous  attention  to  the 
stately  heiress,  Count  Oborski  saw  nothing  in  her  man 
ner  to  make  him  tremble  for  his  hopes.  Loyal  and 
frank,  the  American's  deep,  dark  eyes  only  pleaded  for 
time,  for  a  rest  until  her  sorrow  should  have  spent  its 
force.  The  social  sound  and  clamor  of  an  approach 
ing  struggle  over  Caroline  Rheingold's  fortunes  was 
heard,  even  in  the  clubs.  The  frank  disclosures  of 
Nfcss  Hartley  told  Oborski  of  the  absolute  regularity 
of  the  proceedings.  The  admiral  was  clearly  and 
legally  in  the  line  of  succession,  and  his  cheery 
dispatches  were  a  history  of  his  progress  from  the  mod 
est  veteran  in  retirement  into  one  of  the  gilded  lions 
of  the  day. 

Doctor  Stein's  telegrams,  concise  and  devoid  of 
hope,  confirmed  the  admiral's  dispatches: 

No  loop-hole  here— the  case  is  without  a  hope 
were  the  words,  to  which  the    anarchist  added: 
Next  address.  Chemnitz. 


THE  ANARCHIST  2QI 

As  Walton  nad  surmised,  Caroline  Hartley,  in  her 
fury  at  her  daughter's  emancipation,  had  provided 
by  the  advice  of  her  solicitors,  yielding  only  under 
protest,  against  the  future  by  a  regularly  excuted  will 
leaving  all  absolutely  to  her  brother.  Perhaps  the  hand 
some  egoist  thought  that  the  leverage  of  this  pleasur 
able  document  might  be  used  to  cause  Walton  and 
Evelyn  (through  him)  to  set  up  a  little  court  around 
her  retreat  at  Jervaux  Priory. 

The  return  of  the  admiral  was  expected,  when  the 
news  of  formal  proceedings  by  Rheingold  to  receive 
an  enormous  sum  from  the  Trust  for  medical  services 
rendered  to  his  deceased  wife,  before  the  union,  intro 
duced  a  new  quarrel.  This  was  heightened  by  his 
possession  of  the  Chemnitz  castle,  to  which,  with  its 
personality,  he  laid  claim.  . 

Count  Oborski,  quieted  in  his  personal  fears,  recog 
nized  the  masterly  finger  of  Stein  in  the  effort  to  gain 
at  least  a  handsome  lump-sum  of  money  from  the  fort 
unate  admiral.  With  becoming  delicacy,  he  avoided 
the  subject  of  the  "affair  Rheingold"  which  grew  daily 
in  public  gossip.  The  nobleman  was  rendered  doubly 
anxious  as  to  his  own  future  when  his  month's  leave 
of  absence  was  nearly  finished.  His  opportunities  for 
romantic  tete-a-tete  were  limited  by  the  presence  of 
the  Baroness  Driesen,  and  further  cut  off  by  the  arrival 
of  Lady  Isabel  Dunham.  Admiral  Walton,  detained 
beyond  his  expectation  in  London,  persuaded  the  Lady 
of  Ventnor  to  accept  Miss  Hartley's  pressing  invita 
tion.  Lady  Isabel  was  glad  to  rejoin  her  beautiful 
American  friend — rival  no  more ! 

The  romance  of  the  one  was  closed  forever  by  the 
untimely  death  at  Khiva,  and  the  other  stood  in  the 
very  shadow  of  the  orange-blossoms,  the  plighted 
bride  of  the  splendid  noble  1 


2Q2  THE   ANARCHIST 

With  courtly  sympathy,  and  delicate  tact,  Count 
Oborski  advanced  daily  in  the  regard  of  the  circle  of 
ladies. 

"He  has  the  grand  air!  I  must  admit  him  a  pol 
ished  and  perfectly  accomplished  man.  He  seems  to 
be  heir  to  all  the  talents,"  said  Lady  Dunham.  She 
was  actuated  by  that  vague,  general  approval  of  marriage 
which  brings  a  flutter  to  the  womanly  heart,  even  in 
Mayfair  and  Belgravia. 

"I  can  certainly  trust  a  month's  absence,"  mused 
the  chafing  lover,  as  he  sat  without  counsel  in  his 
splendid  apartment  at  the  'Belle  Etoile.  "  "If  Stein  now, 
could  occupy  the  ground,  'en  ami  de  famille'  while  I 
am  away,  my  cheerful  return  to  duty  will  really  hasten 
Miss  Evelyn's  decision  as  to  when  she  will  keep  her 
plighted  word. " 

A  careful  review  of  the  whole  situation,  received  in 
a  letter  from  Stein,  decided  Oborski 's  course.  Stein 
wrote: 

There  is  little  for  me  to  do  here  but  await  the  action  of 
the  old  lawyer  in  Cleveland.  His  consent  to  a  compromise, 
and  that  of  Miss  Hartley  (which  is  easy  to  obtain)  would  close 
all.  1  burn  to  be  at  my  work  again.  But  the  man  of  law  de 
mands  the  report  of  a  trusted  family  agent,  and  lias  cabled  that 
a  person  with  the  proper  credentials,  is  on  the  way  with  a  plan 
to  effect  a  rapid  and  legal  closing  of  the  whole  quarrel.  If 
Admiral  Walton's  new-born  pride  and  RheingokTs  fantastic 
presumption  can  be  muzzled,  then  I  may  aid  you.  1  will  take 
what  Rheingold  can  offer,  and  you  must  now  Dress  matters  to 
a  close!  If  I  can  help  you,  1  will  come. 

"What  a  man!"  said  Oborski.      "No    lammergeir  of 


THE   ANARCHIST  2Q3 

the  Carpathians  has  a  keener  eye  for  its  prey !  Mar 
velous  in  energy,  he  has  a  heart  of  flint.  Does  no 
human  feeling  ever  touch  his  rugged  bosom?" 

The  Pole,  swathed  in  luxury,  and  nurtured  in  a 
court,  little  knew  the  bitter  lessons  of  Stein's  neg 
lected  boyhood.  The  anarchist's  heart  toughened  to 
sinew  when  he  saw  the  paving-stones  which  had  been 
splashed  with  his  father's  blood  ! 

"He  must  come!  His  eagle  eye  will  note  all!  There 
is  no  suspicion  of  our  secret  union  in  interest. " 

The  general,  with  the  promptness  of  a  soldier,  sent 
an  urgent  dispatch,  veiled  in  words  which  Stein  would 
interpret. 

Going  to  Vienna.    Come  at  once. 

These  brief  words  brought  Doctor  Carl  Stein  to  the 
aid  of  the  sighing  lover.  With  prudent  judgment, 
Count  Oborski  avoided  any  demands  upon^  Evelyn 
Hartley  in  his  tender  leave-taking.  He  well  knew 
the  woman  he  had  in  thrall  was  the  bound  slave  of 
her  code  of  honor.  To  her  plighted  word  he  would 
trust  all. 

His  graceful  sympathy,  and  the  unselfish  bearing 
so  artfully  studied  for  his  last  interview,  touched  the 
heiress. 

"Shall  I  wait  for  you  to  call  me  back?"  he  gently 
said.  "I  have  tried  not  to  break  in  upon  your  sor 
row.  But  your  own  heart  will  guide  you."  The 
chevalric  ways  he  had  followed  in  the  interval  of  her 
loneliness  impressed  his  promised  bride. 

"But  one  month  more,"  she  said,  as  he  waited  for 
her  answer.  "You  can  claim  me  then.  You  have  been 
very  thoughtful  in  these  dark  days!" 

The  daily  contact  with  the  accomplished  man  of  the 


294  THE    ANARCHIST 

world  had  built  up  a  genuine  feeling  of  appreciation 
in  her  heart.  The  voice  of  the  world  hailed  him  as 
a  star  of  Austria's  chosen  chivalry.  Shining  above  all 
other  feelings  was  the  never-forgotten  light  of  the 
obligation  which  was  yet  unrequited — the  saved  life 
which  he  now  asked  to  link  with  his  own  ! 

Carl  Stein,  warned  by  a  letter  at  the  station,  in  the 
hands  of  Oborski' s  valet,  was  invisible  until  darkness 
made  his  entre"e  easy.  The  nobleman,  with  caution, 
waited  the  midnight  train. 

In  the  conference  of  his  last  night,  Oborski  learned 
of  vast,  wide-spread    designs    for  the    coming  season, 
which  called  for  money  in  large  amounts,  and  for  reso 
lute  hearts. 

"The  oppression  and  tyranny  here,  the  detection  of 
plans  miscarried,  fills  the  United  States  with  desperate 
brethren  of  our  Cause.  We  must  have  money !  If 
they  take  up  work,they  are  spied  on  by  the  rich,  or  their 
time  is  cheaply  sold.  They  are  useless  to  us.  In  floating 
vagrancy  they  attract  the  police,  and  are  artfully  thrown 
in  jail  to  separate  them!  Money,  money  is  the  key 
of  the  future!" 

The  Pole's  stout  heart  was  appalled  at  the  dark 
sweep  of  the  designs  imparted  by  his  confederate  and 
master. 

In  the  late  hours  of  the  night,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  station,  accompanied  by  Stein.  His  nerves  were 
unstrung  with  the  excitement  of  parting  from  Eve 
lyn,  and  the  grim  forebodings  of  anarchy's  red  battle 
as  painted  by  Stein. 

As  they  pressed  through  the  motley  crowd,  Oborski 
started,  "There!"  he  cried.  "  Did  you  not  see  her?"  He 
made  a  quick  sign  to  his  valet.  A  woman's  face  had 
caught  his  eye! 


THE    ANARCHIST  295 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Stein,  eying  him  with 
deep  concern. 

"It  is  nothing!'  said  Oborski,  now  persuaded  of  his 
mistake,  for  his  valet  shook  his  head  decisively. 

Yet  //  was  the  face  of  "Etelka"  lurking  in  the  great 
station  to  meet  Melchior,  her  mystic  adviser,  soon 
to  arrive. 

A  king — a  gypsy  king,  but  a  king,  in  truth,  though 
he  traveled  in  humble  peasant  garb — for  wealth  was 
his,  and  light  feet  to  do  his  bidding,  and  ready  knives 
to  strike  at  dead  of  night  in  his  cause! 

When  General  Count  Oborski  closed  his  weary  eyes, 
the  last  word  he  addressed  to  the  valet  on  watch  in  the 
compartment  was  of  his  fancied  recognition. 

"It  was  not  Etelka,  Herr  Graf,"  positively  remarked 
the  valet.  "I  saw  her  plainly.  Something  of  Etelka' s 
figure  but  another  woman,  with  a  peasant  face." 

Oborski  slept  in  peace,  while  the  servant  mused 
upon  Etelka' s  carelessness. 

"Prying  gypsy  magpie!  She  will  spoil  all  yet  by  her 
headlong  folly.  He  did  see  her  plainly.  I  must  warn 
her!"  The  dark-skinned  girl  was  safe  for  her  ally 
could  take  up  the  daily  duty  of  watching  Stein's  daily 
intercourse  with  Miss  Hartley  and  her  guests.  The 
cultured  German  was  the  aesthetic  lion  of  the  hour, 
and  unsuspicious  Evelyn  Hartley  gave  to  him  her  whole 
heart  in  confidence.  Great  love  and  great  grief  equally 
seek  the  relief  of  free  outpouring  to  those  near  us.  In 
such  unguarded  hours,  the  human  heart  reveals  itself 
even  to  the  careless  stranger,  rather  than  be  pent-up 
with  its  surcharged  burden. 

A  fortnight  passed  away,  with  Stein  unconscious  of 
the  wolf-hound  on  his  track.  He  was  nothing  loth  to 
officially  spread  the  tidings  of  Miss  Hartley's  approach- 


296  THE    ANARCHIST 

ing  union,  and  the  German  nobility  and  English 
virtues  of  rank  were  duly  enlightened  by  Baroness 
Driesen  and  Lady  Isabel.  "She  can  not  recoil  now!" 
thought  Stein  as  he  sent  reassuring  bulletins  to  Oborski 
He  closed  his  last  letter. 

There  is  but  one  strange  disappointment.  Judge  Fox  has 
not  yet  sent  his  messenger.  Neither  the  admiral,  Baron 
Rheingold,  nor  your  fiancee  have  heard  of  such  an  arrival.  I 
find  Miss  Hartley  in  a  mood,  however,  to  aid  in  any  reason 
able  adjustment  and  avoid  family  scandal. 

Professor  Carl  Stein,  like  all  men,  was  utterly  inca 
pable  of  going  below  the  surface  of  womanhood's 
thousand  mysterious  phases.  The  very  cheerful  vivac 
ity  which  reassured  Stein  as  to  Oborski's  future  was 
caused  by  the  secret  knowledge  of  Philip  Maitland's 
arrival  in  London.  The  admiral,  with  a  presage  of 
coming  jealousy,  wrote  that  Judge  Fox  had  begged 
Philip  to  make  a  quiet  personal  examination  at  Lon 
don,  using  Alton*  s  acute  wisdom  and  experience,  gain 
Admiral  Walton's  fullest  confidence  and  learn  his 
wishes.  Thenceforward,  to  appear  quietly  at  Munich 
and,  before  external  feeling  could  press  upon  her,  sub 
mit  all  to  Evelyn  and  finally  close  up  the  Rheingold 
matters  on  the  best  terms. 

Miss  Hartley,  herself,  was  not  aware  of  the  real 
cause  of  the  buoyancy  which  cheered  her  near  friends, 
and  delighted  Stein.  It  was,  in  truth,  because,  near 
her,  in  her  closing  day  of  girlhood,  she  would  have 
the  genial  presence  of  Brother  Philip! 

It  had  been  with  difficulty  that  Wilkinson  Fox  per 
suaded  Maitland  to  leave  the  trying  situation,  for  the  late 
spring  had  not  yet  scattered  the  smouldering  embers 
of  discussion.  True,  it  was,that  active  malevolence  had 


THE    ANARCHIST  2Q7 

abated — but  the  citizen's  committees  knew  now  that 
Carl  Stein,  the  veiled  Mokanna,  was  absent  from  the 
American  field,  and  that  the  active  outbreaks  were 
postponed  for  a  year,  awaiting  the  golden  amunition. 
Philip's  anxiety  to  learn  of  Beauford's  last  days — to,  as 
it  were,  mourn  over  his  friend's  ashes  in  certainty, 
decided  him;  for  the  marriage  of  Evelyn  Hartley  to  the 
many-sided  foreigner  seemed  a  sacrilege — albeit  Obor- 
ski  was  clearly  an  eligible  suitor — Maitland  had  no 
wish  to  witness  the  self-devotion  of  another  American 
heiress  to  a  future  of  hand-tied  isolation  in  a  foreign 
land! 

But  across  the  ocean  foam,  the  memory  of  Lord 
Beauford  drew  him  like  a  magnet!  The  loyal  com 
radeship  of  men  begets  a  higher  form  of  personal 
attachment  than  the  passion-tied  knots  which  bind  the 
different  sexes.  Ecstasy  cools  to  indifference,  and 
stiffens  into  bitter  hate,  but  the  thrill  knitting  together 
men  who  have  battled  with  Fate,  never  grows  cold. 
For  those  who  have  clung  to  the  same  spar  in 
a  howling  storm,  to  the  bronzed  companions  of  dan 
gerous  rides  on  the  lonely  frontier,  to  the  men  who 
have  watched  the  Indian's  baleful  fires,  together,  to 
those  "who  have  drank  from  the  same  canteen"  in  the 
lull  of  battle,  a  chum's  face  never  can  be  indifferent! 

Despite  years  of  absence,  the  ring  of  a  loved  voice 
will  bring  the  old  days  back  again! 

Graver,  marked  by  the  winter's  labors,  and  with  a 
sense  of  having  settled  into  his  groove  in  life,  Philip 
Maitland  returned  to  Europe,  on  his  delicate  mission, 
a  man  in  heart,  a  brother  of  men  in  feeling,  and  with 
a  nature  yet  untouched  by  the  love  of  woman.  Though 
he  winced  when  the  thought  of  Evelyn's  marriage  to 
Obbrski  came  to  him,  he  felt  but  a  vague  regret,  no 


THE    ANARCHIST 

passionate  desire  to  cry  "Hold!"  even  were  the  chance 
his  own.  For,  in  his  heart,  he  felt  that  Miss  Hartley's 
marriage  was  a  result  of  the  burial  of  other  hopes  in 
Alfred  Beauford's  grave.  "She  must  have  loved  him," 
he  sighed  as  he  gazed  on  the  heaving  waste  of  angry 
waters.  The  ocean  calmed  and  soothed  him,  even  if 
the  Storm  King  were  abroad.  He  was  tired  of  the 
huddled  crowds  on  the  shore,  of  men,  small  in  creed, 
and  narrow  in  mind!  Cold  of  heart,  vain  in  windy 
theory  and  ineffective,  he  found  the  public  men  who 
paltered  with  reform,  while  he  despised  the  unkempt 
malcontents,  who  raved  for  a  violent  remedy  for  all 
social  ills.  He  scented  the  failure  of  unwise  plans. 

"Reform  has  its  failures  as  well  as  the  old  systems. 
The  great  Salvation  Army,  in  over-tender  sympathy, 
planned  its  great  campaign  against  all  suffering  in  Eng 
land! 'Darkest  England' magnificent  in  theoretical  plan, 
brought  its  believers  to  a  sudden  halt  when  the  emo 
tional  thrill  had  subsided.  Vulgar  details  of  a  practi 
cal  nature,  as  to  funds,  the  unwillingness  of  the  helpless 
to  be  helped,  the  difficulty  of  the  practical  man 
agement  of  large  bodies  of  the  undesirable,  all  these 
things  leave  the  great  discovery  stranded  on  the  shores 
of  'Darkest  England!' 

"No  one  can  doubt  the  human  sympathy,  the  right 
eous  purpose  of  the  Salvationists,"  he  mused,  gazing 
on  the  unanswering  sea,  "but  the  world  will  go  on  in 
its  old  way,  long  after  the  quaintly  uniformed  army 
has  gone  to  the  Last  Muster. 

"The  advanced  socialist,  even  the  anarchists  seem 
to  forget,"  concluded  Maitland,  as  he  racked  his  brain 
for  wisdom,  "that  the  combined  sagacity  of  a  thou 
sand  philosophers,  the  warning  voice  of  the  prophets, 
the  songs  of  the  saints,  even  the  crystallized  learning  of 


THE    ANARCHIST  2QQ 

Greece  and  Rome,  never  stayed  one  erring  soul  from 
finding  sin  sweet,  the  play  of  the  passions  delightful, 
and  life's  morning  a  play-time  of  heedless  self-surren 
der!  No  one  great  man  can  actually  live  the  practical 
life  of  a  simple  starveling!  The  human  problem 
renews  itself  with  each  individual.  Whether  the  drama 
will  end  as  tragedy  or  cofnedy  is  beyond  the  ken  of 
the  wisest.  The  experience  of  no  one  man  or  woman 
has  availed  to  save  son  or  daughter  from  going  astray. 

"The  burden  of  life,  the  heritage  of  toil,  the  evolu 
tion  of  the  fleeting  picture  known  as  'Character,'  is  a 
recurrent  problem,  varying  with  each  individual. 
Thrown  up  as  sands  on  the  shore,  by  the  waves  of  life, 
the  individuals  only  acquire  importance  when  massed 
together,  and  human  brightness  is  evolved  by  friction 
alone.  Under  the  general  theorem  of  absolute  equal 
ity  and  independence,  laid  down  by  the  anarchist,  the 
race  of  life  degenerates  into  a  solemn  march,  or  a 
final  halt,  for  the  prizes  disappear  in  the  destruction 
of  human  inequality.  As  for  the  obliteration  of  indi 
vidualism,  the  great  world,  in  its  varied  aspects,  teems 
with  no  more  varied  forms  of  tyranny  than  a  gleaming 
drop  of  water,  crystal  from  Nature's  fountain,  and  flash 
ing  in  God's  sunlight.  In  its  globular  confine,  a  world 
to  its  microscopic  inhabitants,  the  world's  tragedies 
are  compressed  with  its  whole  theory  of  action  con 
fined. 

"Napoleon,  master  of.  the  world,  sweeping  from 
realm  to  realm,  with  the  resistless  sword  of  destruction 
was  no  greater  in  his  kind,  than  the  savage-looking 
monster  chief  in  the  watery  globule,  who  can  be  seen 
leaving  destruction  in  his  path.  The  wars  of  Caesar  are 
fought  over  in  the  brutal  tyranny  of  the  strong,  in  the 
infinitesimal  theater  of  the  sparkling  drop! 


3OO  THE   ANARCHIST 

"Science  can  magnify  the  watery  battlefield  a  mill 
ion-fold,  and  show  us  the  contained  horrors,  but  wars 
cannot  be  varied  in  principle  between  the  Waterloosof 
men  and  animalculae! 

"Bakunin's  mad  disciples  must  obliterate  self-inter 
est — the  cardinal  principle  of  all  creation,  from  time 
immemorial,  and  until  the  heavens  roll  together  like 
a  scroll,  before  the  association,  personal  or  political,  of 
the  human  beast  can  be  radically  changed. 

"The  aggregate  conditions  of  mankind  of  to-day  rep 
resent  the  aggregate  will  or  its  minimum,  the  aggre 
gate  sufferance.  To  impress  and  mould  anew  the 
minds  and  warp  of  men,  rests  alone  with  that  Almighty 
God,  who,  veiled  in  cloud,  was  not  seen  by  Bakunin ! 

"Against  the  embattled  positions  into  which  human 
ity  has  been  moulded  by  fate,  or  natural  laws,  by  the 
mysterious  hand  of  Providence,  the  generations  of 
political  dreamers  must  dash  out  their  brains  in 
despair ! 

"I  doubt,  to-morrow,  if  the  red  flag  were  unfurled 
in  an  open  field,  whether  the  mere  inertia  of  human 
ties  and  customs,  of  natural  pride  and  tribal  law, 
would  not  prevent  the  human  race  from  being  marched, 
even  to  victory,  by  the  Prophet  of  Destruction!" 

In  the  study  of  social  distress,  in  listening  to  the 
thousand  plans  of  theoretical  amendment  for  relief, 
Philip  Maitland's  faith  grew, while  his  esteem  for  politi 
cal  discoveries  vanished.  It  was  easy  to  recognize  a 
broad  and  growing  spirit  of  conciliation,  and  a  dawning 
brotherhood  of  the  more  enlightened  peoples.  As  to  the 
future,  the  young  American,  reflected  that  similar  con 
ditions 'had  been  met  with  b}'  generations  now  mouldered 
away: — that  a  steady  general  advance  marked  the 
world's  march,  and  that  as  to  the  defects  in  the  varied 


THE   ANARCHIST  30* 

machinery  of  human  society,  the  serious  thinker  was 
cheered  only  by  a  dawning  faith  that  "God's  greatness 
flows  around  our  incompleteness! 

Two  weeks  sufficed  to  give  Philip  Maitland  every 
detail  needed  for  the  personal  settlement  with  Baron 
von  Rheingold.  With  a  joyous  heart  the  American 
crossed  the  channel,  bearing  with  him  but  one  poignant 
regret.  The  details  of  Alfred  Beauford's  fate  remained 
shrouded  in  mystery.  A  visit  to  his  solicitors  produced 
no  other  answer  to  Maitland's  energetic  demands  than 
the  calm  reply,  "Our  sole  news  as  to  the  late  Lord 
Beauford,  is  comprised  in  the  information  which  you 
can  have  confirmed,  in  its  bare  details,  at  the  Foreign 
Office." 

"Can  there  be  any  hidden  mystery  in  this  sudden 
taking  off?"  Dreams  of  crime,  of  a  lingering  prison  life, 
of  treachery,  disturbed  Philip  as  he  swept  along  to  the 
presence  of  the  woman  soon  to  be  Oborski's  bride! 
Admiral  Walton,  now  the  idol  of  the  clubs,  and  a  man 
of  rejuvenated  social  attractions,  lingered  only  a  few 
days  to  allow  Maitland  to  conclude  his  business  before 
he  should  follow. 

In  fact  Horatio  Walton  regarded  the  incense  of  the 
beauties  of  the  West  End  with  a  pardonable  pride,  and 
dallied  in  the  bowers  of  the  fair  London  Delilahs  of 
fashion. 

Miss  Evelyn  Hartley  was  the  very  happiest  woman  in 
Munich  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  own  especial  refuge,  and 
read  Maitland's  one  telegraphed  word  announcing  his 
arrival  at  midnight.  She  welcomed  Philip's  arrival. 
Her  graceful  guests,  the  Driesens,  had  sought  their 
own  home  by  the  Baltic,  and  Lady  Isabel  Dunham 
was  now  the  acknowledged  "star  '  of  that  local  English 


302  THE   ANARCHIST 

colony,  which  always  assumes  to  lead  in  continental 
watering  places.  Doctor  Carl  Stein  was  absent  at  Vienna 
on  a  visit  to  the  triumphant  Oborski.  Evelyn  Hartley, 
with  folded  hands,  was  dreaming  of  the  pageantry  of  a 
wedding  now  rapidly  approaching.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  were  moving  in  a  dream.  With  courteous  formality, 
General  Count  Oborski  had  addressed  her  as  to  the 
visit  to  Munich,  accompanied  by  his  friends  and  wit 
nesses  for  the  marriage.  In  recognition  of  Miss  Hart 
ley's  late  bereavement,  the  nuptials  would  not  be  the 
scene  of  such  display  as  might  be  worthy  of  her  beauty 
and  millions,  and  befitting  the  future  Countess  Oborski. 
Awaiting  the  return  of  her  uncle,  and  the  coming  of 
Brother  Philip,  Miss  Hartley  sat  picturing  the  future 
which  was  dawning  for  her.  There  was  no  thought  of 
delay  in  her  mind,  and  her  authorization  for  the  assem 
bling  of  the  Count's  especial  guests  was  alre?dy  in  his 
hands. 

The  entrance  of  her  maid  awakened  the  heiress  from 
her  dream-pictures,  to  the  momentary  trifles  of  the 
hour. 

"A  lady  wishes  to  see  you.  A  stranger,  madame, M 
said  the  maid.  With  a  faint  curiosity,  Evelyn  Hartley 
entered  her  drawing-room.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  sur 
prise,  in  sudden  fear,  as  a  woman,  heavily  veiled,  in 
costume  strange  to  her,  stood  before  her. 

With  a  reassuring  wave  of  her  hand,  the  veiled  vis 
itor  said,  in  a  rich,  ringing  voice :  "Pardon  me!  Does 
the  gracious  lady  speak  German?" 

Evelyn's  presence  of  mind  returned  under  the  inde 
finable  charm  of  the  stranger's  sympathetic  voice. 
Her  affirmative  answer  was  magical  in  its  effect.  Throw 
ing  aside  the  veil  which  concealed  the  face,  the 
unknown,  sank  intQ  the  nearest  chair*  and  covered  her 


THE    ANARCHIST  303 

face  with  her  hands.  A  torrent  of  grief  seemed  to 
master  her  very  being.  Miss  Hartley  turned  to  ring 
a  bell.  She  would,  at  least,  have  her  maid  as  a  witness 
of  this  peculiar  visitation.  The  unknown  woman  turned 
on  her  a  face,  beautiful  even  in  its  intensity  of  grief. 
It  was  the  very  spirit  of  the  dusky  woods.  A  fairy 
"nut-brown  mayde. " 

"I  beg  you — one  moment  alone!  Do  not  summon 
your  servants.  /  must  speak  with  you  alone  or  die!" 

"What  have  you  to  do  with  me?"  said  the  wonder 
ing  American.  "I  have  never  seen  you  in  my  life!" 
she  kindly  added,  fascinated  with  the*  strange,  wild 
beauty  of  the  unknown,  whose  pleading  address  illy 
befitted  her  bold  and  striking  beauty. 

"You  have  seen  him!"  the  stranger  cried,  springing 
to  the  ormulu  table  where  the  portrait  of  General  Count 
Stanislas  Oborski  displayed  all  his  statuesque  beauty 
of  feature.  "You  would  steal  him  from  me?"  The 
woman's  voice  shrilled  through  the  great  lonely  draw 
ing-rooms  in  its  tension,  voicing  a  distracted  heart. 

"She  is  mad!"  Evelyn  instantly  decided,  her  fear 
returning,  but  a  pride  of  womanhood  still  stayed  her 
hand  on  the  bell, 

"Do  you  speak  of  Count  Oborski?"  the  heiress  said, 
with  forced  composure,  looking  in  the  liquid  dark  eyes 
of  the  stranger  for  the  wandering  light  of  madness. 
"Do  you  know  he  is  to  be  my  husband,  my  poor  girl?' 

The  picture  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  crash,  and  the 
gypsy's  head  lay  prone  at  the  feet  of  the  stranger  from 
over  the  ocean  waste. 

With  one  frightened  glance  at  the  prostrate  woman, 
Evelyn  turned  to  face  the  frightened  domestics  who 
appeared  in  a  group  at  the  door. 

"The  lady  has  fainted!  Raise  her  gently.  Place 
her  on  the  divan!" 


304  THE  ANARCHIST 

Evelyn's    maid,   quick-witted  and    alert,  was  on  her 

eturn  with  restoratives,  when  a  strange    tableau    met 

her  astonished  gaze.     The    proud    Evelyn   Hartley  on 

her  knees  beside  the  moaning  stranger  whose  agonized 

voice  rang  out : 

"7  am  his  wife!  Stanislas!  Have%  pity!"  and  her 
trembling  lips  faltered,  her  eyes  closed,  and  a  death 
like  swoon  chilled  her  young  blood  in  its  cold  trance. 

But  in  the  doorway,  stood  Philip  Maitland,  in  amaze 
ment  at  the  strange  sight. 

Springing  to  her  side,  he  raised  Evelyn,  who  sprang 
to  meet  him,  wi£h  a  wild  cry.  "Thank  God!  Philip! 
Come  back  to  me!  Thank  God  for  your  presence!" 

Her  stately  head  was  resting  on  his  bosom. 

"What  means  this?  Explain!  /  will  protect  you 
against  the  world!"  And  for  the  first  time,  the  elec 
tric  thrill  of  love  burned  in  Evelyn  Hartley's  veins. 
Resting  on  his  breast,  she  faltered,  as  a  torrent  of 
tears  loosened  the  pent-up  feelings  of  an  outraged 
heart: 

"It  means  that  I  have  been  lied  to!  Oborski  is  a 
scoundrel!  This  woman  is  his  wife. 

With  a  quick  glance,  Maitland  saw  that  the  serv 
ants,  glad  to  escape,  had  retired  to  a  safe  distance. 

"Be  silent!"  he  whispered,  as  he  supported  her  to  a 
chair.  "Let  no  one  know!  Who  is  this  person?" 

"I  know  not,  but  she  speaks  the  truth,"  Evelyn  sadly 
said.  "Look!"  She  pointed  to  the  face  where  sorrow 
had  set  the  seal  of  its  torture.  The  hand  of  "Our 
Lady  of  Pain"  had  struck  down  the  dashing  Etelka 
in  her  very  glow  of  youth. 

"Where  is  the  Count?"  quickly  demanded  Philip, 
whose  very  soul  was  stirred. 

"In    Vienna,"  faltered    Evelyn  through    her  tears  of 


THE    ANARCHIST  305 

shame  and  humiliation.  Brother  Philip  read  the  proud 
girl's  heart. 

"My  sister!"  he  said.  "Trust  me  in  all  !  Your 
uncle  comes  in  two  days.  Let  this  woman  be  closeted 
with  you  alone.  Let  no  one  see  her  but  your  own 
maid.  I  will  wait  here  and  guard  the  salon.  Find  out 
all  she  knows.  Use  kindness  as  the  golden  key.  I 
will  wait!  Induce  her  to  stay  here  till  nightfall.  You 
and  I  alone  must  know  of  this.  For  Oborski  shall  not 
see  her  till  we  four  meet  face  to  face. " 

Miss  Hartley  smiled  faintly.  "And  you  will  not  leave 
me,  Philip?"  Her  eyes,  hopeless  as  a  stricken  deer, 
touched  his  heart. 

"Never!  ivhile  you  need  me!  I  will  stay  and  aid 
Walton  in  this!  Now,  let  her  be  taken  upstairs.  I 
wait  out  of  sight.  Join  me  when  you  can." 

With  sisterly  tenderness,  the  child  of  wealth  led  the 
daughter  of  the  Zingaras  to  her  own  retreat.  As 
Maitland  paced  the  salon,  his  foot  crushed  beneath  it 
silver  and  crystal.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
picture  of  Oborski  in  its  ruin.  "Another  foreign  swin 
dler  wheedling  his  way  into  the  heart  of  an  American 
heiress!  My  God!  what  stupendous  folly!  Curse  the 
brute!  If  it  were  not  for  Evelyn's  name  I  would  have 
his  heart's  blood !  This  scoundrel  has  been  foiled  by 
fate!  But  the  Atlantic  ferry  is  bringing  every  week 
fresh  food  for  his  fellows.  The  chase  of  coronets  is  a 
pitiful  self-sacrifice  for  the  women  of  our  land!" 

In  the  half-hour  of  his  loneliness,  Philip  Maitland 
pondered  why  the  wrecked  lives  of  the  sisters  sacrificed 
before,  did  not  appeal  to  the  simple  followers  in  the 
"coronet  hunt."  He,  a  man  of  little  familiarity  with 
Vanity  Fair,  could  not  realize  that  the  American 
mothers  and  daughters  roving,  at  will,  and  alone;  over 


306  THE    ANARCHIST 

Europe,  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  titled  scoundrel,  or 
sly  schemer,  while  the  keen-visaged  fathers  toiled  at 
home,  "out  of  the  swim!" 

"Have  these  women  no  brothers,  no  steadfast  friends 
to  advise?" 

Alas!  Maitland  was  but  too,  familiar  with  the 
degenerate  American  hangers  on  of  the  English  aristoc 
racy!  The  young  callow  brood  whose  vices  alone  have 
the  development  of  manhood,  whose  hearts  throb  to 
the  chimes  of  Bow-Bells  and  the  triumphs  of  whose 
lives  is  to  copy  the  boot-maker's  and  tailor's  addresses 
of  a  London  rake!  The  raffine*,  flinty-hearted  Amer 
ican  sycophants,  whose  triumphs  of  life  are  the  flatter 
ing  notice  of  a  Parisian  jockey-club  flower-girl,  or  a 
bow  from  a  titled  Aspasia  in  the  Bois! 

Thinking  of  how  Fred  Winthrop  rode  to  his  death 
at  Five  Forks — of  dear,  peerless  Charley  Lowell  at 
Cedar  Creek,  whose  Brigadier's  stars  shone  down  from 
heaven  on  his  dead  body — of  De  Long's  grapple  with 
death  at  the  Lena— of  Custer  throwing  away  life,  not 
honor,  dying  under  the  mad  rush  of  the  Indian  foe, 
Maitland  wondered  at  the  later  spawn  of  these  piping 
times  of  peace!  Another  strain  of  American  blood 
than  that  of  these  self-expatriated  weaklings,  thrilled 
in  newsboy  Edison's  wizard  brain — a  sterner  manhood 
nerved  the  bosoms  of  the  bright-faced  youth  of  the 
South,  dying  in  gray  rags,  under  the  Stars'  and  Bars 
with  the  stanchness  of  the  young  guard!  "If  this  stag 
nated  and  self  corrupted  blood  must  rule  America's 
hoarded  millions,  better  that  some  flame  of  God's  ven 
geance  should  sweep  away  this  useless  muck  of  imita 
tion  manhood!1*  His  brow  lightened,  for  there  are  other 
Americans  than  the  men  who  amass  purchased  foxtails, 
and  hoard  favors  gained  in  the  "imminent  deadly 


THE    ANARCHIST  307 

oreach"  of  the  fatiguing  German,  whose  proudest  boast 
is  to  have  left  a  distinct  trail  of  ruined  jvomanhood 
behind  them! — He  thought  of  another  and  an  humbler 
class  !  The  striving  manhood  of  an  America, unknown  to 
the  men  who  spend  their  lives  in  England,  and  boast 
that  they  "know  but  few  Americans"  cheered  him. 
From  lake  to  gulf, and  from  rocky  Maine  to  pine-fringed 
Oregon,  a  silent  army  is  drilling  in  the  actual  warfare 
of  life's  young  morning  to  be  the  men  of  the  future! 

Men  first,  Americans  afterward,  and  at  least  a  recog 
nizable  semblance  of  the  builders  of  our  great 
Republic! 

"These  native-born  champions  of  the  better  life 
should  win  our  glorious  women.  It  is  worse  than 
Sabine  rapine  to  see  the  sugared  smiles  of  the  advent 
urer  light  the  foolish  flame  of  gratified  vanity  in 
womanly  hearts.  The  natural,  healthful  brotherhood 
of  the  Anglo  Saxon  strain  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlan 
tic  will  keep  the  future  dominion  of  the  world  fairly 
divided!  It  is  only  to  the  designing  reprobate  that  the 
outraged  sense  of  America  cries  'Hands  off!'  To  the 
Oborskis!"  Maitland  ceased,  for  Evelyn  Hartley,  her 
face  lit  with  a  strange  fire,  glided  quietly  to  his  side.  I 

"Listen!"  said  she.  "The  gypsy  girl,  'Etelka,'  has! 
given  to  me  her  heart!  Melchior,  king  of  the  Carpa 
thian  tribes,  is  here  to  protect  her.  He  was  present, 
when,  under  the  starlight,  by  the  greenwood  camp-fire, 
this  man  took  her  to  wife,  to  guard  till  death,  while 
birds  should  sing,  the  sun  shine,  and  waters  run!  The 
gypsy  king  will  hide  her  here  and  guard  her.  I  have 
made  her  a  promise—"  her  voice  trembled,  "you  can 
imagine  it."  Maitland  bowed  in  silence.  "And  the 
hand  of  vengeance  will  be  -stayed.  She  is  to  appear 
at  my  call;  and  now,  Philip,  I  rest  in  my  uncle's 


308  THE    ANARCHIST 

hands,  but  trust  to  your  protection  and  counsel 
alone. " 

"When  does  the  count  return?"  Philip  gravely 
queried. 

"Within  a  week,"  said  Evelyn.  "It  is  too  late  to 
prevent  the  arrival  of  the  official  guests!" 

The  American  mused  in  silence.  "I  have  it.  Wal 
ton  and  I  will  take  charge  of  all.  We  will  have  a  pri 
vate  interview.  Your  sudden  illness  can  be  used  as 
a  cloak  to  the  irrevocable  breaking  off  of  the  union.  I 
will  see  this  Melchior.  You  must  send  for  him  at  once. 
Then  we  can  watch  in  private.  I  will,  if  you  will 
permit,  join  your  board  until  the  admiral  arrives. — 
Not  a  word  to  Lady  Isabel  of  this  until  the  affair  is 
over!  We  can  trust  the  count's  silence.  The  gypsy 
vengeance  will  seal  his  tongue.  I  will  call  at  once  on 
Lady  Isabel!" 

"She  returns  to-night!"   said  Evelyn. 

'Then,  have  your  strange  visitor  safely  sent  home 
in  a  closed  carriage.  I  will  come  in  the  morning!  You 
need  rest!  Sleep  in  peace,  my  poor  sister!" 

The  yearning  tenderness  of  his  heart  gave  pathos  to 
his  words,  and  as  he  left  the  salon,  a  graceful  woman, 
her  eyes  dimmed  with  tears,  followed  him  with  silent 
blessings. 

As  Philip  Maitland  sought  his  quiet  retreat,  selected 
previously  to  avoid  Rheingold's  spies,  he  revolved  the 
strange  surroundings  of  unprotected  Evelyn  Hartley. 

"Who  can  have  twined  this  web  of  deviltry  around 
her?  Who  would  guide  Oborski  in  his  sly  chase?"  The 
lightning  flash  of  his  awakened  fears  showed  him 
Carl  Stein,  the  Mephisto  behind  the  modern  Faust! 

"He  is  the  villain!"  Fhilip  Maitland  swore  ven 
geance;  but  it  was  a  needless  vow,  for,  as  with 


THE  ANARCHIST  309 

flashing  eyes,  Etelka  told  the  story  of  the  day  to  Mel- 
chior,  the  gypsy  king  drew  a  heavy  bladed  knife  and 
kissed  its  blade.  "He,  who  took  your  hand  is  safe 
until  he  weds  another;  but  this  dog  who  led  him  to 
this  innocent  lamb,  this  German  cur,  this  Stein,  who 
toils  to  entrap  you,  he  shall  die  the  death  of  the  dog 
he  is!" 

Fritz  had  not  failed  to  give  to  Etelka's  eager  ear, 
all  the  details  of  Stein's  abetting  in  the  plot  to  entrap 
the  heiress. 

"And  this  Stein  would  lead  you  out  of  the  way,  and 
lay  his  hands  on  you!"  Melchior  growled  like  a  beast 
at  bay,  and  dreamed  of  a  day  when  proud  Etelka 
should  be  won  at  last!  But  a  film  of  blood  hovered 
between  him  and  the  gypsy  wedding  of  the  dim  future! 

Maitland  tossed  in  restlessness,  his  soul  was  in  arms. 
Late  in  the  night,  he  sat  with  folded  arms  before  his 
fire.  The  whole  mysterious  play  began  to  unroll  its 
hidden  secrets.  The  stars  were  now  in  the  West,  and 
the  whistle  of  the  midnight  trains  had  sounded  an 
hour  past  in  the  chill,  midnight  air. 

A  vague  suspicion  seized  him:  "Could  the  two 
scoundrels  have  lured  Beauford  to  his  death?"  An 
intense  feeling  of  longing  to  know  the  ultimate  truth 
possessed  him.  He  saw  again  his  gallant  comrade  as 
in  the  bright  days  of  their  world  wandering. 

"I  swear,"  he  said,  "I  will  watch  the  last  scene 
here.  The  Rheingold  business  concluded,  I  will  go 
to  Khiva!  I  will  find  the  tomb  of  Beauford!  I  will 
have  the  story  of  his  last  hours,  if,  even,  from  foes  or 
barbarians!"  and  the  silent  room  seemed  filled  with 
the  very  presence  of  his  dead  friend! 

A  loud  knocking  on  the  door  aroused  him.  "Here 
is  one  would  see  you!"  cried  a  rough  voice.  It  was 


3IO  THE    ANARCHIST 

the  watchful  night-porter.  The  flickering  lamp  told 
Maitland  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  the 
man  whom  he  should  never  see! 

Giving  the  fire  a  stroke  which  lit  up  the  room  with 
the  crackling  flame  of  the  birch  logs,  he  threw  open 
the  door. 

A  cloaked  form  stood  before  him,  and  it  was  only 
when  the  stranger  strode  into  the  light,  that  Maitland 
almost  shrieked, 

"Beaufort!" 

"The  same,  old  fellow!"  heartily  cried  the  returned 
ghost  as  his  vigorous  grip  proved  him  of  flesh  and 
blood. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  stammered  the  Amer 
ican,  who  dared  not  breathe  lest  his  friend  should  take 
flight. 

The  grumbling  porter  closed  the  door  and  muttered; 
"Crazy  fellows — those  Englishmen.  All  Munich  is 
asleep!  All  decent  people  stay  at  home  at  night!" 

"I  come  from  London,  my  boy, "  jovially  said  Beau- 
ford,  as  he  deliberately  lit  every  candle  of  the  several 
branches  in  the  room. 

"And  your  reported  death?"  eagerly  continued  Mait 
land,  as  Beauford  prosaically  lit  a  cigar.  The  hand 
some  Briton  was  trembling  with  emotion,  and  fain 
would  hide  his  uninsular  weakness. 

"The  Foreign  Office  knew,  old  boy,  but  dared  not 
contradict  it!  It  was  a  trap  telegram  set  afloat  by 
Russian  spies.  I  rode  the  Pamir  plateau,  down  the 
Oxus,  and  with  secret  relays  of  guides,  furnished  by 
the  secret-service  department  of  India,  worked  all 
through  the  Russian  lines,  and  cut  home  by  Teheran 
and  Beyroot.  From  Constantinople  I  reached  London 
incognito,  and  after  reporting  at  the  Foreign  Office, 


THE    ANARCHIST  311 

here  I  am.  Admiral  Walton  will  be  here  to-morrow, 
I  pledged  him  to  secrecy." 

"And  why  did  you  rest  silent  under  all  this?" 
Maitland's  heart  was  still  thumping  in  delight. 

"Orders,  old  fellow!  I  had  a  tough  time  as  it  was! 
I  would  have  been  killed  if  the  fact  was  known  of  my 
plan!" 

Maitland  saw  the  light  at  last! 

"But  your  solicitors?"  he  persisted. 

"My  dear  boy,  an  Englishman  is  not  dea-d  till  he  is 
seven  years  missed  at  mess!  I  turned  up  inside  of  one! 
Beside,  I  had  no  one  to  mourn  me!  My  heir  was  away 
in  the  Neilgherries  and  he  alone,  on  his  pledge  of  honor 
as  a  British  officer,  had  the  viceroy's  cipher  telegram 
of  the  truth.  I  left  no  broken  heart  behind!" 

Their  eyes  met !  Maitland  made  no  reference  to  Eve 
lyn  Hartley.  He  could  see  that  Alfred  Beauford's 
face,  worn  and  aged,  showed  a  burden  of  care!  He 
then  knew  all!  And  yet  Philip  Maitland  dared  not 
tell  of  the  coming  explosion! 

"Let's  have  a  bowl  of  punch!  We  will  make  a 
night  of  it,"  said  Lord  Beauford  merrily.  "Won't  you 
go  back  with  me?" 

"Go  back  where?"   queried  Maitland,  open  eyed. 

"They  have  made  me  Minister  to  Persia!  I  will 
allow  you  to  listen  to  the  song  of  the  bulbul  in  my 
garden,  and  you  can  read  Sadi  and  Omar  Khayvan  in 
the  original!  As  a  Yankee,  you  might  attack  the  Shah 
and  furnish  telephones,  phonographs,  and  a  few  of 
your  national  marvels  to  the  Harem." 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  the  gallant  champion  of  old 
England  saw  that  Philip  Maitland's  eyes  were  glist 
ening. 

"Yes,  old  man!  It  is  in  the  Gazette,  I  am  to  be 
promoted  from  Vienna,  so  that  family  influence  will 


312  THE   ANARCHIST 

be  credited."  Cock  crow  found  them  with  yet  later 
details  to  discuss,  and  they  slumbered  till  high  noon. 

Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  in  his  splendid  sleeping- 
room  at  Vienna,  was  forgetting,  next  day,  a  last  farewell 
bachelor  revel,  when  Carl  Stein,  with  scant  ceremony, 
rushed  past  the  valet  whose  protests  were  ignored. 

With  a  rough  grasp,  he  awoke  the  handsome  sleeper. 

"Rouse  yourself,  Oborski — your  foolish  delays  have 
cost  you  a  million.  The  fiends  of  hell  are  loose!" 

"What  mean  you?"  angrily  cried  the  count.  "What 
do  you  here?" 

"A  truce  to  your  folly!  Read  this!  You  will  never 
marry  Evelyn  Hartley!"  He  thrust  a  telegram  into 
the  hands  of  the  astounded  general.  It  was  an 
anarchist  cipher  from  London. 

Lord  Beauford  alive — was  on  some  foreign  quest.  Just 
gazetted  Minister  to  Persia.  Left  for  Vienna. 

"By  God!  /'//  wait  here  and  kill  him!"  hissed  .the 
Pole,  as  he  rang  for  his  man. 

"Get  up,  you  fool!  and  hie  to  Munich.  He  is  there 
now,  and  the  woman  who  bought  his  honor  is  in  his 
arms." 

With  the  snarl  of  a  tiger,  Oborski  sprang  from  his 
bed.  A  brutal  quarrel  soon  proved  Carl  Stein  the 
master  of  the  infatuated  noble.  The  set  face  of  the 
anarchist,  and  his  withering  reproaches  made  Obors- 
ki's  blood  boil.  "I  am  not  your  bond  slave!  Go  to  the 
devil!"  he  yelled. 

And,  upright  before  him,  his  yellowish-green  eyes 
blazing  in  a  new  light,  Carl  Stein  made  a  sign  which 
left  Oborski's  silenced  lips  ashen  pale.  He  bowed  and 
passed  the  triumphant  intruder  as  one  of  Caesar's 
gladiators.  The  cry  "morturi  te  salutant"  of  the  doomed 


THE   ANAfcCHlSf  313 

swordsmen,  the  sport  of  the  gods,  died  on  his  lips,  for 
the  awful  seal  of  the  red  brotherhood  closed  them. 
He  was,  in  all  his  splendor,  the  slave  of  a  merciless 
master!  Behind  him — whom?  The  genius  of  Destruc 
tion! 

In  the  very  happiest  circle  at  Munich,  as  the  evening 
stars  shone  down  calmly  on  the  petty  joys  and  sorrows 
of  the  human  worms  below,  Evelyn  Hartley  listened 
in  silence  to  the  eager  recitals  of  Admiral  Walton, 
Beauford's  guarded  story,  Lady  Dunham's  scarcely 
veiled  ecstasy,  and  Philip  Maitland's  meaning  remarks. 
It  was  as  if  one  had  returned  from  the  dead !  A  secret 
of  moment  bound  Evelyn  and  Philip  together,  for  the 
noble  Count  Oborski,  with  his  evil  spirit,  Stein,  was 
speeding  to  wed  his  bride,  and  the  gypsy  pair  were  now 
lurking  in  shadows  of  concealment  like  tigers  ready  to 
spring.  "Alas!  They  now  understand  each  other!" 
thought  Beauford,  gazing  at  the  Americans,  but  smil 
ing  Lady  Isabel,  her  gentle  heart  bounding  in  love's 
delicious  tumult,  had  found  a  mission  in  life. 

"Evelyn  Hartley  shall  not  be  Oborski* s  bride!  Philip 
alone  can  give  Beauford  back  to  me1" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FOR  A  MILLION — THE  WEDDING  EVE — "WILL  YOU  LIFT  THE 
LADY'S  VEIL" — A  SUDDEN  SUMMONS — STEIN'S  DISCLO 
SURE LORD  BEAUFORD  GOES  A  WOOING MISS  HART 
LEY'S  ANSWER — LADY  DUNHAM'S  SURPRISE A  SUDDEN 

VISIT SAVED — THE    MAGIC    RING. 

THE  clubs  and  gilded  circles  of  Munich  made  marvel 
over  the  scanty  public  preparation  for  the  marriage  of 


314  THE  ANARCHIST 

the  American  heiress.  The  death  of  the  Baroness  von 
Rheingold,  the  now  public  quarrel  as  to  the  ownership 
of  the  Chemnitz  castle  and  the  singular  attitude  of 
Miss  Hartley's  circle,  gave  rich  food  for  reflection  to  the 
local  scandal-mongers. 

"All  the  Americans  are  more  or  less  crazy!"  coldly 
criticised  the  lean-throated,  faded  dowagers  of  the 
German  noblesse  who  wailed  over  the  feast  which 
seemed  not  forthcoming. 

Miss  Hartley's  mourning, and  General  Count  Oborski's 
military  trust  made  explanation  easy,  but  embittered 
regret. 

Not  even  Alfred  Beauford,  now  wondering  at  Eve 
lyn's  strange  embarrassment  in  his  presence,  not  Mait- 
land,  nor  the  now  splendid  sailor  veteran  could  follow 
the  desperate  struggle  for  that  million  needed  for 
anarchy's  coffers!  All  over  Europe,  sporadic  outrages 
kept  the  continental  peoples  in  alarm,  and  doubtful  as 
to  whether  private  revenge,  or  the  red  creed  was  the 
element  of  terror!  In  hidden  mechanical  work-shops 
and  chemical  laboratories,  the  coward's  weapons,  were 
studied, practised  on,  and  every  dark  refinement  of  devil 
try  applied  to  the  discovery  of  methods  for  removal! 
Men  and  women  of  rank  and  wealth  grew  timorous  of 
public  occasions,  and  the  halls  of  pleasure  sheltered 
many  a  quaking  heart.  Even  to  men  who  would  fight 
a  la  barriere  without  flinching,  the  unknown  has  its 
ghastly  chilling  fear!  In  this  brooding  cloud  of  social 
distrust,  Doctor  Carl  Stein  and  the  now  reckless  Obor- 
ski,  hurried  toward  Munich.  "I  may  as  well  now  force 
the  fulfillment  of  her  promise,"  sullenly  said  Count 
Stanislas. 

"You  are  right,"  answered  the  implacable  Stein, 
who  refused  to  forgive  the  brilliant  lover  for  the 


THE    ANARCHIST  315 

untoward  delay  of  the  marriage.  Maitland  was  gloomy 
for  he  knew  the  secret  hold  upon  Beauford's  gratitude 
in  the  great  money  obligation  of  the  unknown  friend. 

In  a  gloomy,  waiting  silence,  the  wedding-party 
waited  the  count's  coming.  "By  Jove!  There  is 
something  wrong,"  soliloquized  Admiral  Walton,  at 
the  "Circle  des  Etrangers. "  He  was  now  the  show  fig 
ure  of  Munich's  foreign  visitors.  His  carriage  and 
servants,  all  his  social  appointments,  indicated  a 
stately  luxury,  appalling  to  the  thrifty  Germans.  "Eve 
lyn  has  something  on  her  mind!"  the  old  man  con 
cluded,  as  he  beamed  upon  the  fast  gathering  circle 
of  his  sunshine  friends. 

"Thank  Heavens!  I  will  soon  have  her  off  my  hands! 
And  my  yacht  will  be  in  commission."  He  proposed 
a  triumphal  progress  through  all  the  still  dear  scenes 
of  the  social  world.  "Much,"  he  reasoned,  "was  due 
to  the  proper  maintaining  of  his  rank  and  position." 
In  this  attitude,  Admiral  Horatio  Walton  made  the 
breaches  of  good  taste,  which,  in  a  parvenu,  would  have 
been  called  "vulgar  ostentation."  But  in  the  haut 
monde,  actions  are  made  tolerable  by  the  rank  of  those 
concerned. 

Miss  Evelyn  Walton,  on  the  eve  of  an  exciting 
ordeal,  in  which  Maitland  was  to  be  her  sole  support, 
for  Admiral  Walton  had  given  up  her  control  in  his 
new  occupations,  was  gravely  disturbed  by  a  haunting 
fear  of  the  future  safety  of  Jervaux  Priory. 

"If  I  marry,  should  I  die,  would  it  overwhelm  noble 
Beauford,  now  on  the  very  high-road  of  honor?"  The 
inexperienced  girl  could  not  tell.  She  did  not  know 
that  as  Minister  to  Persia,  a  heavy  secret  service  fund 
would  aid  him  in  bearing  the  public  charges  of  his  bril 
liant  station. 


316  THE   ANARCHIST 

But  the  embarrassment  of  her  refined  nature,  im 
pressed  Beauford,  always  delicate,  as  a  cold  avoidance. 
"I  will  make  sure  of  a  few  days  with  Phil,  and  then, 
this  physical  and  moral  transfer  over,  the  golden  prize 
landed,  I  will  hasten  on  to  Vienna!" 

It  was  by  order  of  the  Foreign  Office  that  he  was 
secretly  directed  to  linger  in  that  refined,  jaded,  yet 
provoking  social  atmosphere  of  covert  abandon.  Cer 
tain  movements  of  supplies  and  troops,  certain  heavy 
changes  of  diplomatic  pawns  were  to  be  quietly 
effected  before  the  new  quiet  campaign  against  the 
Bear  on  the  Oxus  would  enable  the  Lion  to  show  a  sharp 
set  of  claws  at  will! 

"Count!     All    depends    on    your    social    nerve  and 
coolness!"  said  Professor  Stein    as    they   swung    into 
fair  Munich.     The  logician  and    philosopher  had  fur 
bished  up  all  his  ingenious    wit,  worthy   of    a    Grand 
Master  of  the   Inquisition,  for  the    ordeal.      "You  will 
meet  Lord  Beauford  at  once.    His  rank  will  place  him 
in  your  hotel,  and  this  wedding  will  bring  you  face  to 
face.      Be  doubly  careful  that  no  tell-tale  glance  gives 
color    to  your    hidden    hate.      And,    as    Maitland    has 
naught    to  do  but    watch,  beware  of    him,  and    count 
your  words.    The  old  admiral  is  a  pompous  nonentity. 
But,  the  star  of  every  scene  is    your    promised   bride! 
Throw  your  heart  and  soul  into  your  words  and  glances. 
Watch  her  like    a  lynx.     Strange    self-protecting    dis 
similation  of  womanhood!      In  all    the    years    I    have 
wandered  through  the  lights  and  shades  of  intellectual 
life  with  her,  I  have  never  seen  her  unfathomed  nature 
stirred  to  its  depths.      The    vintage    of  her  heart  may 
be  like  the  imprisoned    priceless  liquid   in  the    frozen 
wine,  the    choicest    elixir    of    Love ;  but  be    on    your 
guard,  day  and  night! 


THE    ANARCHIST  317 

"In  high  play,  in  social  life  as  with  the  unknown 
master  of  fence,  the  crowning  blunder,  fatal  at  once, 
is  to  underestimate  your  opponent!  In  the  reciprocal  in 
terchanges  of  courtship,  woman  is  your  wary  foe,  until 
she  falls  breathless  in  your  arms,  to  be  your  bounden 
slave, — if  you  bind  her  with  the  fetters  of  the  law!" 

Count  Stanislas  Oborski  smiled  gloomily,  in  this 
perfunctory  lesson.  He  soared  in  his  own  haughty  self- 
esteem  far  above  Professor  Stein,  whose  triumphs  were 
the  cold  ones  of  intellect  and  culture,  not  the  thousand 
graceful  victories  of  the  "social  manner."  Carl  Stein 
had  all  the  haughty  arrogance  of  the  German  scholar,— 
the  man  of  the  world  shone  with  "savoir-vivre. " 

The  stars,  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  millions,  beside 
lonely  Evelyn  Hartley,  shone  calmy  down  on  the  val 
ley  of  the  Iser.  King  and  court,  burgher  and  peasant, 
visitor  and  waif  of  fortune  were  buried  in  the  daily 
trifles  which  make  up  life,  but  Evelyn  Hartley's  bosom 
shielded  a  wildly  beating  heart.  Around  her  board, 
on  the  eve  of  the  appointed  wedding-day,  sat  the  cir 
cle  of  her  home,  with  the  splendid  bridegroom  sup 
ported  by  his  inseparable  friend,  Stein.  There  were 
but  two  at  the  board  who  knew  of  the  vital  interest  of 
the  minutes  ticked  away  musically  by  the  golden  clock. 

As,  with  a  proud  glance  of  veiled  tenderness,  Gen 
eral  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  pledged  his  bride  to  be, 
in  meaning  silence,  the  heiress  felt  her  tell-tale  glances 
observed.  They  had  wandered  for  support  to  the 
unmoved  face  of  Philip  Maitland.  Lady  Isabel,  Lord 
Beauford,  the  polished  Stein,  and  the  admiral,  were 
tossing  the  feather-ball  of  idle  talk  to  and  fro!  No 
machinery  yet  invented  but  social  hypocrisy  will  sift 
the  required  sugar-coating  over  the  surface  of  society. 
This  cotton-wool  padding  of  small  talk  alone,  pre- 


3l8  THE    ANARCHIST 

vents  the  jar  and  crush  of  ill-assorted  natures.  Two 
human  beings,  hidden  in  the  stately  mansion,  panted 
for  the  hour  of  a  formal  interview  between  Count 
Oborski,  as  the  groom,  and  the  prospective  bride,  still 
an  American,  supported  by  the  confidential  agent  of 
her  trustee.  As  for  Admiral  Walton,  resplendent  in  his 
garb  of  rank  and  honor,  he  had  waved  away  his  shad 
owy  duties  to  the  energetic  Philip.  "Should  you  need 
to  consult  me,  I  will  be  at  hand  The  notaries 
tomorrow  morning  can  elucidate  any  technical  points. 
I  will  entertain  your  guests." 

At  the  hour  of  nine,  Count  Oborski  sat  in  the  library 
alone  with  a  tranquil  smile  of  triumph  on  his  chiseled 
lips.  No  ripple  on  the  calm  surface  of  the  social  gath 
ering  indicated  reluctance  or  reserved  feeling.  As 
the  butler  closed  the  door  and  left  him  to  his  reflec 
tions,  he  fixed  his  mind  on  the  coming  interview. 
"Some  details  as  to  her  rights  under  the  American 
law,  some  formalities  enjoined  by  the  trustee  upon  his 
representative.  But  to-morrow,  after  the  double  cer 
emony  is  over,  I  shall  bear  her  away  to  Jordanov. 
There,  she  will  learn  the  state,  the  ceremonies  and 
the  duties  of  a  Countess  Oborski!"  A  sinister  smile 
of  confidence  played  upon  his  lips  as  he  waved  a  jew 
eled  hand.  "Apres,  c'est  moi  qui  fait  le  jeu!" 

Above  him  in  Evelyn's  boudoir,  Philip  Maitland, 
stern-faced  but  calm  and  self-contained,  gave  the  last 
injunctions  to  Etelka.  The  gypsy's  eyes  burned 
in  life's  highest  fever,  as  she  dropped  the  folds  of  a 
heavy  veil  over  a  dark  dress  of  Polish  mourning. 
Beside  her  stood  Melchior  in  his  fantastic  garb,  a  long 
cloak  and  peaked  hat  lay  on  a  chair  beside  him.  His 
uneasy  eyes  glittered  as  he  listened  to  every  sound 
from  the  drawing-room.  His  brown  hand  fingered  the 


THE    ANARCHIST  3IQ 

heavy  knife,  thrust  in  his  belt.  A  warning  glance  from 
Maitland  recalled  the  chief  to  his  promise. 

"Now!"  said  Philip,  "remember, "  as  he  dropped 
Etelka's  nerveless  hand,  "You  are  to  follow  in  silence. 
I  will  guard  you.  You  have  my  word,  Melchior!  and 
patience  for  you!  "  Your  time  ts  not  yet." 

Maitland's  eye  was  as  steady  as  the  duelist  waiting 
for  the  word  when  he  whispered  Miss  Hartley.  "Be 
firm  at  the  last.  Wait  till  I  ring  for  the  butler.  Then 
watch  for  my  sign,  or  my  words." 

He  offered  his  arm  in  silence  to  the  heiress  of  David 
Hartley.  In  the  reassuring  touch  of  her  "Brother 
Philip,"  she  felt  the  reflected  love  and  guidance  of  her 
only  real  parent,  the  man  sleeping  where  the  soft  roar 
of  Lake  Erie's  waters  lulled  his  last  rest. 

Count  Oborski  sprang  to  his  feet  as  Philip  Mait 
land,  with  a  ceremonious  bow,  relinquished  the  peer 
less  woman  who  would  dower  him  on  the  morrow, 
with  her  hand  and  hoarded  fortune.  "Did  the  heart 
go  with  it?"  Looking  in  the  splendid  eyes  gravely 
regarding  him,  standing  in  all  the  cold  purity  of  her 
maiden  beauty,  Stanislas  Oborski  felt  his  mad  heart 
bound  within  him. 

Goddess  and  queen,"  he  thought,  with  surging  pas 
sion.  "I  must  wake  that  marble  to  life.  She  shall 
learn  to  love  me!"  For  the  courtier  could  not  lie  to 
himself.  Evelyn  Hartley  had  passed  the  hardest  ordeal 
of  the  eventful  night.  To  tell  Philip  Maitland  all— 
to  unfold  to  him  the  reasons  why  she  was  bound  to 
Oborski  by  the  strong  tie  of  gratitude,  and  not  the 
bond  of  burning  love  —  to  hide  the  futile  analysis  of 
her  feelings  toward  Lord  Beauford,  and  to  confess 
her  failure  to  enter,heart  and  soul,  into  European  life, 
was  the  agony  of  the  girl's  unhappy  day.  But  firm 


320  THE    ANARCHIST 

in  her  reliance  in  Philip's  protection,  and  the  counsels 
of  her  distant  adviser  at  Cleveland,  she  feared  not  to 
face  the  man  who  waited  for  her  in  this  supreme  hour! 

But,  when  her  task  was  done,  she  said:  "After  it  is 
over,  take  me  home,  Philip.  I  will  select  companions 
here  for  my  household,  but  my  place  is  in  America. 
This  is  a  land  of  cold  deceit." 

Maitland  calmly  studied  Count  Oborski's  impassive 
face,  as  he  imparted  to  the  noble  general,  the  details  of 
the  great  Hartley  trust.  Evelyn  was  rapidly  regaining 
her  composure  and  a  look  of  polite  attention  only  ani 
mated  the  face  of  the  noble  suitor.  "All  these  details 
and  matters  can  be  looked  over  by  the  notaries,  my 
advisers,  and  the  American  embassy  at  Vienna  can 
instruct  my  wife  in  any  needed  formalities." 

The  time  for  action  approached,  Count  Oborski's 
marked  courtesy  gave  no.occasion  for  any  difference, and 
even  he,  became  interested  in  Philip  Maitland's  clear 
exposition  of  Evelyn  Hartley's  rights  and  duties,  as 
heiress  of  her  father's  vast  estate.  A  sudden  thought 
occurred  to  the  proud  and  happy  general.  Stein,  (the 
unforgiving  cormorant)  would  demand,  as  soon  as 
possible,  a  share  of  the  golden  winnings  for  the  dark 
propaganda  of  their  common  creed.  In  a  guarded 
question  as  to  his  future  status,  Oborski  gave  Maitland 
the  desired  clew. 

"Your  dealings  with  the  estate  will  be  hampered 
with  some  legal  formalities,"  said  Philip  Maitland, 
with  a  last  glance  at  the  beautiful  woman,  who  sat, 
her  parted  lips  seeming  breathless  as  she  hung  on 
every  measured  word.  Touching  the  bell,  which 
startled  the  attentive  Count  strangely,  Maitland  whis 
pered  an  order  to  the  butler. 

"It  now  becomes  my  duty  to  ask  you,  formally,  if  you 


THE    ANARCHIST  321 

have  ever,been  married,"  said  Philip,  his  voice  seem 
ing  unfamiliar,  even  to  himself,  as  the  blood  surged  to 
his  heart. 

"Never,"  said  Oborski,  with  a  curious  impatience. 
"I  have  the  permission  of  my  August  Sovereign  to 
marry!"  There  was  a  cold  ring  in  the  noble's  voice. 
"That  is  enough!" 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Maitland,  as  he  accepted  a  glass 
of  water  from  the  servant  who  closed  the  door.  One 
glance  was  enough.  Philip  had  darted  a  lightning 
look  at  Miss  Hartley,  whose  bosom  was  heaving  as  if 
some  sudden  emotion  swept  over  her! 

"Have  you  the  documents  with  you.?"  The  Ameri 
can's  voice  was  strange  in  its  semi-hostile  ring. 

Stanislas  Oborski  sprang  to  his  feet.  An  undefin- 
able  suspicion  darted  over  him  as  to  the  presence  of 
the  grave  young  American. 

"/  came  here  to  claim  a  wife,  not  to  be  questioned 
like  a  peasant!"  hotly  said  the  superb  noble  as  he 
glared  in  questioning  defiance  at  Maitland. 

"You  shall  have  her,"  Maitland  replied,  and  opened 
the  door.  Evelyn  Hartley  glided  silently  to  the  arch 
way,  where  a  woman  dressed  in  black  hovered  on  the 
threshold. 

Leading  the  unknown  forward,  Miss  Hartley's  voice 
was  as  cold  as  the  winter  winds  wail,  as  she  said,  with 
one  withering  glance  of  scorn  at  the  Pole: 

"  Will  you  lift  the  ladfs  veil?" 

The  maddened  adventurer  tore  aside  the  sombre 
crape.  He  staggered  back  as  his  voice  rose  to  a  shriek. 

"Etelka!" 

Before  the  echoes  of  his  exclamation  were  silent,  Miss 
Hartley  and  the  vision  had  vanished.  Oborski  sprang 
toward  the  door,  but  Philip  Maitland  planted  himseli 


322  THE    ANARCHIST 

firmly  against  it.  The  American's  eyes  were  blaz 
ing. 

"What  means  this  outrage?  Your  life  shall  pay  for 
it!"  cried  the  Count,  closing  in  on  Maitland.  Before 
he  could  master  his  enemy,  Maitland  saw  the  noble 
prone  on  the  floor,  for  Melchior,  like  a  tiger  had 
dragged  him  down.  The  sinewy  left  hand  of  the  gypsy 
king  was  clenched  on  Oborski's  throat,  and  pressed  to 
his  heart,  the  heavy  knife  menaced  his  life,  at  a  move 
ment! 

"Lie  still,  you  dog.  If  you  speak  you  die!"  hissed 
the  gypsy.  "You  married  Etelka  before  the  assembled 
tribe.  I  am  her  protector.  If  you  cross  her  path,  I  will 
be  her  avenger.  The  gypsy  doom  hangs  over  you!" 

Maitland  touched  the  maddened  chief's  shoulder. 

"Silence!  Let  him  rise.  Leave  him  to  me.  You 
can  hear  what  I  say!" 

While  Count  Stanislas  glared  in  sullen  rage,  the 
gypsy  king  stood  ready  to  leap  on  him  once  more! 

"Shall  I  call  in  Beauford,  Lady  Isabel,  Admiral  Wal 
ton?"  said  Maitland,  with  a  meaning  emphasis.  "Do 
you  wish  to  have  the  reason  of  this  breaking  off  reach 
your  august  sovereign?" 

"It  is  a  foul  plot,  it  was  no  marriage!"  raged  the 
noble,  over  whom  hung  Stein's  dread  menaces. 

"You  lie,  Polish  hound  i"  cried  Melchior,  "meet  me 
at  midnight  alone  at  the  Heigesthor  if  you  are  a  man! 
I  will  cut  the  truth  out  of  your  black  heart !  Man  to 
man!  Do  you  accept  the  challenge?" 

Stanislas  Oborski  was  brave,  but  he  feared  a  midnight 
grapple  with  the  maddened  gypsy.  Melchior  saw 
Etelka's  eyes  shining  on  him  in  love,  as  he  battled  for 
her  in  this  supreme  hour! 

"Send  away  this  assassin!"  he  muttered  to  Maitland 
"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?" 


THE   ANARCHIST  J23 

"Stand  at  the  door  within  hearing,  Melchior!"  said 
Maitland.  Turning  to  Oborski  he  coldly  uttered  the 
death  sentence  of  the  noble's  hopes. 

"Mark  me,  you  rascal!  I  fear  you  not!  If  you  move 
an  inch  I  will  blow  your  brains  out!  You  have  seen 
Evelyn  Hartley  for  the  last  time.  Leave  this  house  at 
once,  without  re-entering  the  drawing-room.  Miss 
Hartley's  sudden  illness  will  suffice  for  a  reported  post 
ponement.  You  may  use  that  lie  to  save  scandal.  But 
when  you  leave  Munich  never  take  her  name  on  your 
lips.  If  you  do,  it  is  your  death-warrant!  Go!  You 
can  dismiss  your  friends  without  scandal.  I  care  not 
if  you  stay  here  a  short  period.  But  cross  this  thresh 
old  again  and  you  are  a  dead  man!  As  for  me,"  he 
crumpled  a  card  and  threw  it  toward  the  count,  "I  am 
at  your  service  in  any  way,  at  once!  Send  your  seconds 
to  Lord  Beauford!"  With  haunting  murder  in  his 
eyes,  the  Count  crossed  Evelyn  Hartley's  threshold — a 
disgraced  and  discarded  suitor. 

The  sudden  illness  of  Miss  Hartley  gave  Doctor 
Stein  an  opportunity  to  leave  and  as  Maitland  whis 
pered  "You  friend  has  gone!''  he  read  the  story  of 
defeat  in  the  American's  eyes. 

Lord  Beauford,  seated  in  the  angle  of  the  drawing- 
room  with  Lady  Isabel,  into  whose  blue  eyes  a  tender 
light  had  wandered  back,  noted  not  the  departure  of 
Stein  or  the  bridegroom,  for  a  messenger  had  just 
delivered  him  a  sudden  summons. 

Come  to  Vienna.  Mail  to-morrow  for  you,  you  can  leave 
to-morrow  night. 

The  signature  "Weathersford"  and  the  private  key 
words  of  the  English  embassy  proved  it  official. 

"I  must  hasten  on  to  Teheran,  I  fear,"  Beauford 
whispered  to  Lady  Isabel.  "Here  is  my  summons!" 


324  THE    ANARCHIST 

"When  do  you  leave,  Alfred?"  whispered  Isabel 
Dunham  with  blanched  cheek. 

'To-morrow  night!"  said  Beauford,  his  thoughts 
fixed  on  his  mission. 

Witfi  a  sigh  of  sudden  pain,  Isabel  Dunham's  fair 
head  drooped  on  his  shoulder.  The  shadow  of  part 
ing  fell  on  her  gentle  soul  like  the  gloom  of  the 
grave.  When  Alfred  Beauford  had  called  the  half 
fainting  woman  back  to  her  self-control,  he  whispered, 
"I  will  come  to  you  to-morrow.  Await  me  here!" 
Anxious  to  end  the  scene,  he  noticed  with  vague  alarm, 
the  disappearance  of  all  but  the  admiral,  who 
approached  with  a  grave  face. 

"Pardon,  but  will  Lady  Isabel  kindly  join  Evelyn 
who  seems  suffering."  With  a  look  of  anxious  intel 
ligence,  Beauford  and  Isabel  parted.  As  the  light 
footsteps  of  Lady  Dunham  died  away,  Admiral  Wal 
ton  seized  Beauford' s  arm.  "I  need  your  counsel, 
Beauford.  Will  you  come  to  me  here  at  nine 
tomorrow.  It  is  an  affair  of  the  greatest  moment  to  us 
all!"  Lord  Alfred  assented  and  wondering  left  the 
drawing-room,  where  Walton  began  his  quarter-deck 
pace,  regardless  of  scattered  bric-a-brac. 

"The  whole  world  seems  upside  down  !  What  can 
have  happened?  Is  this  some  sudden  freak  of  Miss 
Hartley,  Maitland?" — The  puzzled  nobleman  was  cut 
short  at  the  door  in  his  reflections  on  this  singular 
wedding-eve,  by  Philip,  whose  face  was  a  mirror  of 
wild  excitement. 

"Don't  sleep  till  I  see  you.  I  will  come  to  your 
hotel.  I  have  to  go  there  to  send  telegrams.  It  is 
very  vital  to  have  your  presence  here  to-morrow." 

"What  has  happened?"  bluntly  asked  the  nobleman. 

"Count  Oborski  will  probably  send  you  his    seconds 


tHE  ANARCHIST 

on  my  account.   I    referred    him  to   you."     Maitland's 
tone  was  as  fierce  as  the  hail  of  a  hostile  sentinel. 

"By  Jove!  You  must  make  quick  work!"  said  the 
startled  Beauford.  "I  must  leave  for  Vienna  at  mid 
night!" 

"The  sooner  the  better!  Any  time—any  terms!" 
answered  Philip. 

"All  right!  Count  on  me,"  said  Beauford,  glad  to 
leave  this  house  of  mysteries.  "He  has  won  her  at 
last!  But  there  will  be  blood-stains  on  the  altar 
steps,  I  fear- 
It  was  two  hours  before  Admiral  Horatio  Walton 
finished  his  conclave  with  Maitland.  The  old  mariner 
was  aroused,  and  vowed  not  to  leave  a  moment  until 
Beauford  and  Maitland  returned. 

"He  may  come  without  me,"  sternly  said  Maitland, 
"for  I  may  meet  Oborski  at  daybreak,  and  one  or  the 
other  of  us  will  leave  the  ground  feet  foremost.  If 
anything  should  happen,  tell  Evelyn — "  the  young  man 
paused — "that  Brother  Philip  died  for  her.  " 

"Bah!    That  cur  will  never  face  you!"  cheerily  said 
Walton,  as  he  pressed  Philip's  hands.   "Noble  fellow," 
the  old  sailor  growled,  as  he    mounted    the    stairway 
The  house  was  lone,  for  the   gypsy    king  and  the  beau 
tiful  Etelka  were  now  on  their  way  to  Vienna. . 

"I  will  leave  her  in  the  heart  of  our  tribe,  where  an 
army  would  not  reach  her,"  whispered  Melchior,  bend 
ing  his  lean  brown  arm,  "the  knife  shall  find  that 
traitor  heart!"  This  was  the  wild  world  rover's 
oath. 

With  a  dull  foreboding  at  his  heart,  Carl  Stein 
strode  to  Count  Oborski' s  superb  apartment,  Throw 
ing  open  the  door  he  saw  the  Pole  seated  at  his  table, 
his  head  bowed  in  his  arms.  When  he  raised  his  face, 


326  THE    ANARCHIST 

Stein  seized  him  roughly.  "You  have  played  the 
fool,  you  have  lost!" 

"My  wife  and  your  million,"  muttered  the  desperate 
general. 

"Hell  and  furies!"  yelled  Stein,  his  eyes  blazing  in 
the  green  and  yellow  flame  of  the  springing  tiger,  "who 
has  tricked  you?" 

"The  American!"  muttered  Oborski. 

"You  are  only  a  handsome  ass!"  sneered  Stein.  "It 
is  the  haughty  Beauford.  The  minister  to  Persia!  Old 
Walton  has  had  a  hand  in  this.  He  will  leave  them 
the  mother's  fortune!" 

"I  must  get  out  of  here,  but  before  I  do,  I  will  strike 
them  both7""~"Oborski's  dark  eyes  blazed  with  a  bale 
ful  fire. 

"Fool,"  shouted  Stein.  "Your  bullying  will  do  no 
good. " 

"Will  you  take  my  challenge  to  Beauford.  The 
American  referred  me  to  him?"  '"" Oborski  was  almost 
humble. 

"No!"  thundered  Stein.  "I  have  to  see  him  at  once. 
What  caused  the  breach?" 

"That  arch-fiend,  Etelka,  strode  in  between  us  and 
claimed  me!" 

"And  you  could  not  outweigh  the  trollop's  romance 
in  your  lady's  estimation?"  The  sneer  cut  Oborski 
to  the  quick. 

"Melchior,  her  lover,  had  a  knife  at  my  heart.  It 
was  a  planned  ambush!" 

Stein  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast.  "You  have 
ruined  yourself  and  /  know  your  destination!" 

Count  Oborski  paled  as  the  mystic  sign  of  the 
higher  council  met  his  eyes. 

"Davidoff  will  send  you  on    the  American    mission. 


THE    ANARCHIST  327 

This  failure  damns  you  forever.  You  can  work  out 
your  vengeance  on  the  American  over  there.  I  order 
you  to  send  no  message  to  Maitland  until  I  have  seen 
Beauford.  I  will  enter  here  early.  Be  astir!" 

"I  have  but  one  chance  left!  To  work  on  this  Eng 
lishman's  pride,  to  prevent  the  marriage.  I  must 
desert  Oborski  and  play  the  family  friend.  Walton 
and  Maitland  may  be  of  use  to  me!"  Carl  Stein  left 
the  room  without  a  word.  Stanislas  Oborski's  shaken 
nerve  was  steeled  now  to  the  wildest  deed. 

On  the  broad  piazza,  Beauford  was  the  first  man 
the  anarchist  encountered.  His  courteous  greeting 
showed  no  feeling.  "May  I  have  a  half  hour  with  you 
to-morrow,  my  lord?"  sa^id  Stein.  'I  have  a  matter  of 
importance  to  speak  of." 

"It  must  be  ti-night  then,  for  I  leave  for  Vienna  to 
morrow,"  gravely  replied  Beauford,  scenting  Oborski's 
expected  challenge. 

"Ah!  I  will  then  speak  now!"  the  scholar  quickly 
retorted,  and  the  men  entered  a  small  waiting-room. 

"I  presume  I  can  congratulate  you  on  your  new  rela 
tion  with  Miss  Hartley?"  remarked  Stem,  opening 
his  fire,  with  directness. 

Lord  Alfred's  silken  courtesy  held  Stein  at  a  dis 
tance,  as  he  coldly  replied,  "I  am  unaware  of  anything 
binding  our  names  together.  Explain  yourself,  sir!" 

"I  am  authorized  to  settle  the  quarrel  between 
Baron  Rheingold  and  the  Hartley  estate.  In  your 
capacity  as  her  future  husband,  you  should  advise  her, 
as  Maitland  has  power  to  settle,  to  give  the  Baron  a 
handsome  settlement.  He  prolonged  her  mother's  life 
ten  years.  He  will  close  all  and  retire  all  his  claims 
for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  You 
should  consider  his  situation.  The  Chemnitz  castle 


328  THE   ANARCHIST 

would  then  be  available  for  you  and  your  bride,  as 
your  home  place  is,  I  believe,  leased  to  Lord  Derwent- 
water." 

Beauford  gazed  at  Stein  as  if  the  now  plausible  pro 
fessor  was  mad, 

"Further,  Rheingold  merits  your  special  considera 
tion.  He  induced  his  wife  to  make  no  opposition  to 
Miss  Hartley  advancing  the  eighty  thousand  pounds 
to  save  Jervaux,  even  though  you  turned  them  out  after 
she  did!" 

"Say  that  again!"  cried  Beauford,  seizing  the  Ger 
man's  wrists  with  a  grip  of  steel.  The  solid  floor 
seemed  whirling  under  his  feet!  Stein  repeated  his 
remark,  "  /  think  you  are  mafif"  soberly  said  Beauford, 
"You  astonish  me!  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you!" 
With  a  supreme  effort,  thinking  of  Evelyn's  name, 
Beauford  left  the  astonished  German,  who  cried: 

"Ask  Maitland!  He  will  tell  the  story!"  Lord 
Alfred  paced  the  floor  of  his  apartment  till  after  mid 
night  before  the  eagerly  expected  Maitland  arrived, 
weariness  and  excitement  had  told  upon  the  Ameri 
can's  nerves.  His  face  was  wolfish  and  haggard. 
Throwing  himself  in  a  chair,  he  cried,  "Have  you  re 
ceived  the  count's  message? 

"Not  yet!'  answered  Beauford,  as  he  offered  refresh 
ment,  "Now,  Phil,  tell  me  your  plans,  for  I  fancy 
this  duel  will  blow  over." 

He  was  eager  to  question  his  comrade! 

One  overmastering  thought  burned  within  his  heart. 
The  scales  had  fallen  from  his  eyes,  and  he  knew,  at 
last,  whose  gentle  hand  had  stayed  the  grasp  of  the 
law  on  the  very  tombs  of  the  stately  line  whose  blood 
now  tingled  in  his  veins! 

The  strange    embarrassment  of    the  beautiful  Amer- 


THE   ANARCHIST  329 

ican  was  now  explained.  "She  fancied  1  would  never 
know  till  years  had  passed/" 

He  listened  eagerly,  as  Maitland  slowly  reviewed 
the  field. 

"Miss  Hartley  is  now  safe  from  intrusion.  Walton 
is  ready  to  'repel  boarders'  I  fancy  from  what  you  say 
the  count  will  disappear  quietly.  Certainly  there  will 
be  no  remark.  I  shall  wait  a  week  until  Miss  Hartley 
has  gone  to  England.  She  will  have  a  charming  ref 
uge  with  that  exquisite  woman,  Lady  Isabel.  Lady 
Dunham  is  a  heroine!  She  has  taken  entire  charge  of 
the  past  scenes  of  Evelyn's  life  in  Munich.  Nothing 
seems  to  shake  her  stately  nerve,  and  her  quick  wit 
astonishes  me!  We  are  all  agreed.  In  the  meantime, 
I  will  run  up  and  close  this  Rheingold  matter.  Under 
the  present  circumstances,  I  shall  use  the  directions 
Judge  Fox  gave  me,  and  end  the  public  quarrel." 

"  You  may  not  have  to  leave  Munich, "  said  Beauford, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Maitland,  as  if  he  would  read  his 
friend's  very  soul.  The  nobleman  recounted  Stein's 
reasonable  proposals,  omitting  all  reference  to  the 
disclosure  of  Evelyn's  generosity. 

"This  is  a  wind-fall,"  cried  Philip,  leaping  to  his 
feet.  "May  I  send  Hobson  to  find  Professor  Stein 
now.  I  will  meet  him  in  the  morning  and  close  the 
whole  matter  before  you  have  finished  your  interview 
with  the  admiral.  This  allows  me,  then,  to  sail  for 
home  in  two  weeks.  I  have  had  important  news  by 
to-day's  mail." 

Alfred  Beauford  watched  his  friend  in  silence,  as 
he  indited  a  courteous  note  to  Rheingold's  represen 
tative.  Hobson  departed  with  orders  to  find  his  man. 
The  young  men  awaited  his  return  in  expectant  silence. 
"All  right,  sir,"  was  Hobson's  cheerful  response.  "I 


330  THE    ANARCHIST 

found  the  professor  in  Count  Oborski's  room.  Mait- 
land's  hand  trembled  as  he  tore  open  the  note.  It 
was  gravely  courteous,  and  signified  Professor  Stein's 
wish  to  await  his  visitor  in  the  hotel  garden  at  nine 
o'clock.  "I  design  leaving  Europe,  and  hope  to  meet 
you  in  closing  this  half-way,  for  I  can  go  to  Chem 
nitz  and  save  you  a  journey." 

"That  ends  the  duel  matter,"  commented  Beauford, 
as  he  handed  back  the  note.  "You  can  sleep  in  peace. 
By  the  way,  let  me  send  my  man  back  with  you!" 
Beauford  would  not  express  his  fear  of  some  cowardly 
treachery. 

"I  am  armed  and  I  think  I  could  gi-ve  General 
Oborski  a  very  interesting  five  minutes  if  he  is  a  night 
rambler,"  said  the  smiling  American,  who,  however, 
further  armed  himself  with  a  couple  of  Beauford's 
choice  regalias. 

The  supreme  moment  had  come!  a  red  spot  glowed 
in  Beauford's  cheek,  as  he  said  simply: 

"Well,  old  friend,  it  is  a  crossing  of  paths.  You  to 
America,  1  to  Persia!  Phil,  you  must  dine  alone  with 
me  to-morrow.  It  will  be  our  last  night.  I  may  not 
see  you  till  after  your  marriage!  " 

Phil  Maitland's  hearty  laughter  roused  the  echoes! 
His  face  beamed  with  genial  frankness  as  he  faced 
Beauford. 

"What  nonsense  are  you  talking?  I  am  going  home 
alone  to  work,  to  make  money — perhaps — to  fight  anar 
chists!  Things  look  very  ugly  there." 

"You  overrate  these  dangers!"  said  Beauford,  gain 
ing  time  for  his  next  query. 

"Not  a  bit,"  gravely  said  Maitland.  "Unless  our 
generation  is  willing  to  tamely  submit  to  an  average 
amount  of  cruel  destruction  by  these  most  fiendish 


THE    ANARCHIST  33! 

bomb  episodes,  and  to  let  anarchy  perfect  its  own 
extensive  organization,  we  should  strike  now,  and  break 
up  these  knots  of  desperate  scoundrels.  If  we  do  not, 
it  will  force  on  all  civilized  nations,  a  cold  system  of 
general  repression,  coupled  with  the  severest  punish 
ment.1' 

"Do  you  go  to  England?"  said  Beauford,  as  he 
thought  of  the  Dark  Ladye  and  the  Bright  Ladye 
wandering  together  under  the  oaks  of  Ventnor  Hall. 

"Why,  certainly  not!  I  go  home  by  Havre  direct. 
Beauford's  heart  was  beating  wildly.  Philip  Maitland's 
word  was  the  voice  of  honor.  What  could  have  loos 
ened  Evelyn  Hartley's  bond  of  gratitude  to  the  Polish 
noble!  "There  was,  then,  no  other  lover.  She  is  free! 
Lord  Beauford  was  forced  to  speak  at  last. 

"Phil,"  he  said  almost  solemnly,  "Is  it  true  that 
Evelyn  Hartley  advanced  the  money  which  saved  my 
old  acres  from  the  auction  sale  of  the  law?"  Maitland 
kindly  pressed  Beauford's  hand,  as  he  slipped  out  of 
the  door,  saying  briefly: 

"Suppose  you  ask  the  lady  yourself!  I  will  dine  with 
you  to-morrow!" 

The  morning  of  Miss  Hartley's  wedding-day  dawned 
cheerily,  and  under  the  brooding  wings  of  God's  peace, 
the  whole  circle,  whose  game  of  cross-purposes  had 
reached  its  crisis  slept  safely  through  the  anxious 
night.  The  highly-bred  domestics  of  Miss  Hartley's 
splendid  menage  sulked  about  their  duties  as  the 
signal  for  striking  tents  had  been  passed  from  garret 
to  kitchen. — An  inexplicable  air  of  hurry  and  uneasy 
transience  pervaded  the  abode  of  the  heiress. 

At  the  Hotel  Belle  Etoile,  several  coupes  filled  with 
General  Count  Oborski's  friends  awaited  that  happy 
man!  Professor  Carl  Stein  and  Philip  Maitland,  seated 


332  THE    ANARCHIST 

in  the  open  air  garden  of  the  splendid  hotel,  were  half 
through  the  negotiation  which  wearied  both,  when 
Lord  Alfred  Beauford  slowly  descended  the  marble 
stair.  His  face  was  pale,  his  ceremonious  dress  was 
faultless  in  its  simple  elegance.  A  carnage  of  elegant 
appointment  awaited  him.  Through  the  trellised  grape 
vines,  he  could  see  his  friend  calmly  conferring  with 
the  accomplished  German  intrigant. 

"There  will  be  no  powder  burned  to-day!"  mused 
Beauford.  As  he  entered  his  carriage,  his  clean-cut 
aristocratic  face  shone  with  the  settled  purpose  which 
was  to  decide  his  future. 

"She  shall  call  those  old  oaks — those  very  towers 
her  own!"  he  pledged  himself  as  the  crowd  of  curious 
tourists  envied  his  participation  in  the  wedding  fes 
tivities  of  the  Lady  of  Millions. 

The  happy  Count  Oborski  was  not  visible.  His 
waiting  friends  became  impatient. 

"My  dear  Beauford,"  said  Admiral  Walto^  as  Lord 
Alfred  entered  the  drawing-room,  "I  beg  your  pardon^ 
for  such  an  early  appointment,  but  my  niece  desired 
to  see  you,  and  I  could  not  explain  last  night.  I 
know  your  preoccupations,  but  I  must  have  an  half 
hour's  time  with  you." 

Lord  Beauford  smiled  as  he  replied,  "I  am  quite  at 
Miss  Hartley's  service." 

"Then  1  will  see  you  later,"  said  Walton,  as  Eve 
lyn  Hartley  stood  before  them.  Her  simple  morning 
robe  only  accentuated  her  dazzling  beauty,  but  in  her 
eyes  was  the  mingled  sorrow  and  tenderness  of  a  Mur- 
illo  face.  A  trifling  incident  turned  the  current  of  her 
sadness.  They  were  alone  at  last! 

"What  exquisite  flowers!"  she  involuntarily  said,  as 
the  Englishman  handed  her  a  bunch  of  white  rosebuds. 


THE   ANARCHIST  333 

In  all  their  dainty  virginal  richness  there  was  neither 
myrtle  nor  an  orange  blossom. 

"Before  you  do  me  the  honor  to  consult  me,"  said 
Lord  Beauford,  whose  face  was  ashen  pale,  "if  you 
would  permit  me,  Miss  Hartley,  I  would  consult  you 
upon  a  matter  which  is  of  vital  interest  to  my  present 
and  may  change  my  future." 

Miss  Evelyn  Hartley  bowed,  her  dreaming  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  blossoms  she  had  taken  from  his  hand. 

"You  are  going  to  England.  Will  you  not  go  to  Jer- 
vaux  Priory?"  There  was  a  strange  ring  in  his  voice. 
Miss  Hartley  raised  her  beautiful  dark  eyes  in  won 
der. 

"As  its  mistress — as  my  wife!"  said  Beauford.  "I 
know  at  last  the  obligation  you  have  placed  me  under 
in  so  delicate  a  manner." 

"Philip  did  not  tell  you!"  said  the  heiress,  her  whole 
nature  quaking  jn  sudden  alarm. 

"Not  so!"  said  Beauford,  kindly  taking  her  hand. 
"He  told  me  to  ask  you,  when  I  demanded  the  truth 
of  him.  It  was  from  Doctor  Stein  I  learned  at  haz 
ard,  the  secret  of  the  noble  kindness  which  called  me 
back  from  a  wanderer's  life — which  has  made  me  Min 
ister  to  Persia  What  do  I  not  owe  to  you!  I  owe 
to  you  my  very  life!  1  offer  it  to  you.  This  is  a  strange 
world.  There  is  witchery  in  the  very  air  here.  If  it 
were  not  for  my  enforced  departure,  I  would  have 
deferred  this  request  until  I  had  shown  myself  worthy 
to  walk  through  life  at  the  side  of  a  noble  woman! 
But  I  fancied,"  he  hesitated,  "that  you  loved  Mait- 
land. "  He  ceased,  for  a  crimson  glow  rushed  to  her 
pale  face,  as  the  morning  sun  tints  the  snowy  peaks  of 
the  Alps. 

''Pardon  met"  he  murmured,  "I  could  not  leave  you 


334  THE    ANARCHIST 

for  years  without  telling  you  that  the  only  return  I 
can  make  to  you  is-the  devotion  of  a  life!  Years  might 
pass  by  before  I  could  see  your  face  again.  It  is  only 
right  that  you  should  know!" 

The  sweet  girl  at  his  side  was  looking  kindly  at 
him,  through  lashes  wet  with  happy  tears. 

"I  will  speak  to  you  my  whole  heart.  I  know  your 
country  will  have  no  nobler  representative.  From  the 
alleys  of  Ventnor,  I  can  see  your  roof  tree.  I  shall 
walk  your  halls  where  the  faces  of  your  line  look  down 
in  pride.  I  am  a  lonely  girl,  Lord  Beauford.  I  have 
glanced  in  at  the  golden  gates  of  Vanity  Fair.  I  tell 
you  as  a  friend  of  my  heart,  that  I  am  going  home  to 
my  own  people.  My  life  has  been  tried  with  sorrows 
every  hour  since  I  touched  the  shores  of  the  old  world 
In  my  far-off  land,  if  I  cannot  find  a  love  to  lead  me 
on,  I  will  surely  find  a  thousand  gentle  ties  which  tell 
of  Home,  of  Duty,  of  the  great  unpaid  debt  we  children 
of  wealth  owe  to  the  friendless,  the  homeless,  the 
age,  the  helpless  and  the  suffering.  Shall  I  tell  you 
now,  that  there  is  not  a  woman  in  the  world  who 
would  not  be  honored  in  sharing  your  name,  in  ruling 
your  heart,  and  in  dividing  your  joys  and  sorrows.  But 
I  am  also  a  prophetess."  And  she  smiled  daintily, 
through  her  diamond  tears.  "I  shall  come  back  soon 
to  Jervaux  and  call  you  brother.  In  my  dreams  I 
can  see  by  your  side — " 

"Lady  Isabel,"  said  the  butler,  as  he  threw  open 
the  doors  of  the  drawing-room,  thinking  only  the  gen 
tlemen  were  in  conversation. 

The  most  memorable  breakfast  of  Beauford's  life  was 
the  one  at  which  he  alone  infused  a  certain  air  of  gay- 
ety,  for  Maitland  frankly  reported  the  settlement  of  the 
Rheingold  difference,  and  Admiral  Walton  was  the 


THE    ANARCHIST  335 

nimblest  squire  of  dames  to  the  radiant  Lady  Isabel.  He 
was  happy,for  he  was  now  assured  that  Beauford  would 
lead  Evelyn  in  time,  back  to  Yorkshire  as  the  mistress 
of  Jervaux.  Lord  Alfred  had  gained  time,  while 
Maitland,  Lady  Isabel  and  Horatio  Walton  were  hold 
ing  a  secret  rejoicing  over  the  unexpected  quiet  of  the 
day,  to  exchange  a  few  sentences  with  Evelyn  in  the 
rear  drawing-room. 

"I  am  half  an  English  girl  in  blood,"  laughed  Eve 
lyn,  now  happy  in  her  safety  and  freedom.  "I  will 
always  feel  you  my  brother  while  I  own  half  of  Jer 
vaux  with  you.  It  will  be  all  yours  again  some  day, 
but  I  shall  claim  the  right  to  come  and  see  who  rules 
your  fireside!" 

"You  are  an  angel,"  warmly  cried  Beauford,  as  he 
pressed  kisses  on  the  fair  white  hands  which  had  given 
him  back  his  dear  old  home. 

The  fairy  of  cross  purposes  touched  Maitland*  s  eyes 
with  her  magic  wand!  "I  fancy  there  is  no  uncer 
tainty  in  their  relations  now, "  he  ruminated,  as  the 
bright  cheerfulness  of  the  "Minister  to  Persia"  was 
especially  shared  by  the  Dark  Ladye.  "It  is  a  singu 
lar  fate  which  leads  a  girl  from  Cleveland  to  Teheran 
by  the  Caspian,  at  the  beck  and  call  of  love.  Dan 
Cupid  leads  us  with  a  single  hair." 

Maitland's  remarkably  acute  diagnosis  of  the  situa 
tion  led  him  to  depart  to  close  up  certain  details  with 
Stein,  who  was  to  leave  at  once  for  Chemnitz  to  have 
the  deeds  and  releases  prepared.  "I  am  glad  Evelyn 
will  wear  Beauford' s  name.  They  are  a  nobly 
matched  pair,"  he  mused,  "but  I  always  thought  that 
Lady  Isabel — "  His  dreams  vanished  before  this  pleas 
ing  certainty. 

Before  Maitland  and  Lord  Beauford   sat  at  table  in 


33^  THE    ANARCHIST 

their  private  rooms,  Stein  had  gladly  departed  for 
Chemnitz.  "I  shall  come  directly  to  Vienna,  when 
these  papers  are  signed.  I  will  have  at  least  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  the  cause!"  said  he  to  Oborski. 
"See  that  no  damned  foolishness  occurs  hereto  preju 
dice  you  still  further  in  the  eyes  of  Davidoff.  You 
have  played  every  card  wrongly  in  the  pack.  You 
have  held  all  the  honors  and  come  out  stripped.  Patch 
up  this  gossip  in  the  smoothest  way  you  can  !  I  advise 
you  to  watch  night  and  day  over  yourself.  Melchior's 
knife  is  as  keen  to-day  as  when  at  your  breast  last 
night." 

In  his  lonely  room  the  maddened  Pole  strode  up 
and  down  with  a  raging  fever  of  unsated  revenge 
in  his  veins.  "If  I  could  only  strike  one  blow,  the 
other  can  wait.  I  will  watch  that  American  and  later 
he  shall  give  up  his  dog's  life  to  my  revenge.  The 
sleek,  curled  English  fool  though,  with  his  staring 
baby  eyes  will  press  that  Galatea  to  his  bosom !  May 
the  blasts  of  hell  wither  them  both  in  that  embrace!" 

He  studied  every  shade  of  the  quarrel  as  he  tramped 
his  room  like  a  caged  tiger.  A  confidential  brother 
Equerry  had  judiciously  warned  the  few  witnesses  of 
the  groom.  "Oborski  will  be  disgraced  and  relieved 
for  this  fiasco,"  he  thought,  and  chose  the  early  train 
for  Vienna."  A  devilish  flash  of  wit  lit  up  Oborski's 
face.  I  can  do  it  to-night!"  He  goes  late  to  Vienna. 
The  American  fool  will  be  watching  at  the  mansion, 
and  his  hotel  is  a  mile  away.  If  the  American 
leaves  him,  I  can  do  it!  I  will  send  all  to  the  station 
with  my  man  early.  I  have  never  quarreled  with  him. 
I  shall  go  on  to  Vienna.  Once  out  of  Bavaria  I  am 
safe!  He  will  not  suspect!  Ah!  It  will  be  a  foretaste 
of  heaven!" 


THE    ANARCHIST  337 

Under  the  same  roof  Beauford  and  the  unsuspicious 
Maitland  merrily  dined  in  private.  "I  am  sorry  to 
leave  you  at  eight,"  said  Philip,  "but  the  admiral  is 
now  eager  to  leave  Munich.  He  fears  the  'qu'  en  dira 
t'-on'  more  than  a  broadside.  Once  they  are  gone, 
I  can  run  down  to  Vienna  and  be  with  you  to  the 
last." 

Lord  Alfred  Beauford  did  not  urge  the  American 
to  stay.  A  second  dispatch  from  Weathersford  bore 
the  stirring  words: 

Lose  no  time! 

"I  shall  surely  see  you,"  cheerily  cried  Maitland, 
"for  after  my  people  leave  I  wish  to  make  a  little 
investigation  at  Vienna  and  clear  up  all  the  mystery 
of  the  count's  marriage  to  the  gypsey  beauty.  I  am 
told  as  a  singer  she  was  raved  about  by  imperial  Grand 
Dukes  in  Russia,  and  probably  this  impulsive  man 
married  in  a  brief  fervor  of  love!  I  have  promised 
Evelyn  to  protect  Etelka,  at  least  from  any  first  ven 
geance.  She  has  charged  me  with  some  commissions 
for  Melchior  and  the  singer,  who  are  as  proud  in  their 
way  as  the  Hapsburgs. " 

Alfred  Beauford  sat  alone  in  his  room  as  the  clock 
struck  nine.  He  had  but  one  poignant  regret.  The 
old  admiral  had  by  dint  of  pottering,  prevented  his 
communion  of  an  hour  with  graceful  Isabel  Dunham. 
"God  help  her!  Lonely  and  gentle-hearted.  I  wish 
we  were  in  England  again  for  a  season  and  I  could 
brighten  her  life  a  bit.  I  must  ransack  the  bazaars  of 
Teheran  for  a  memorial  at  once  on  my  arrival."  He 
thought  of  the  noble  and  high-spirited  American  girl 
who  had  given  him  the  inviolate  confidence  of  her 
heart.  "She  is  a  royal  nature,  she  draws  to. 


338  THE  ANARCHIST 

her  all  that  is  brightest  and  best.  Some  day — some 
day,"  Beauford  dreamed,  "she  will  awake  as  the  wild 
touch  of  a  passionate  love  Isweeps  her  heart-strings! 
Then,  Evelyn  Hartley  will  be  a  moving  charm,  a  glow 
ing  picture  of  rapture.  But,  never  has  her  thought 
strayed  toward  me.  She  does  not  seek  rank  or  name. 
What  waits  her  in  the  golden  future?" 

As  he  pondered  of  this  new-found  sister  in  heart, 
the  rustle  of  a  woman's  robes  caught  his  attention. 
A  light  foot  paused  at  his  door,  and  a  timid  knock 
brought  him  to  his  feet.  Hobson  was  already  awaiting 
him  at  the  station,  and  he  was  alone.  He  wished  to 
avoid  contact  with  any  of  Oborski's  returning  guests 
as  long  as  possible.  Even  the  awkwardness  of  meeting 
the  disappointed  suitor,  he  would  shun,  although  no 
word  or  glance  of  ill-feeling  had  ever  ruffled  their 
polite  companionship. 

"I  suppose  that  diplomatic  politeness  must  veil  any 
knowledge  of  this  awkward  episode.  It  is  best!" 
decided  Beauford.  But,  as  he  opened  the  door  of  his 
apartment,  he  drew  back  in  wonder  as  Lady  Isabel, 
gliding  into  his  rooms,  threw  off  a  filmy  domino.  She 
was  in  evening  dress  and  arrayed  in  jewels  and  price 
less  lace.  Lord  Beauford's  blood  rushed  to  his  heart, 
as  he  stammered :  "Isabel!  My  God!  You  here- 
alone!  Are  you  mad!"  The  beautiful  woman  mur 
mured,  "I  stole  away  from  the  admiral  at  the  theatre. 
I  could  not  speak  to  you  to-day.  I  may  not  see  you 
again  !  Alfred,  I  could  not  bear  to  part  without  a  last 
word.  I  only  knew  to-night  the  truth!" 

"What  truth?"  stammered  Beauford,  still  dazed  at 
her  hazardous  stolen  visit. 

"That  yon  were  not  to  marry  Evelyn!"  she  said, 
sinking  into  a  chair,  and  covering  her  face  with  her 


THE    ANARCHIST  339 

hands.  "I  could  not  let  you  go  to  Persia  without  telling 
you  that  I  had  tried  to  make  amends  for  the  wrong  I  did 
you  once.  That  it  was  I  who  bade  Lord  Ventnor, 
on  his  family  honor,  hold  you  back  from  a  desperate 
wanderer's  life  by  naming  you  at  Vienna.  I  had  to 
hide  my  hand.  I  knew  your  pride.  I  wished  to 
awaken  your  ambition!  To  see  you  in  the  rank 
your — " 

A  resolute  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  With  the 
lightness  of  a  startled  deer,  Lady  Isabel  grasped  her 
domino  and  sprang  within  the  folding  doors  of  the 
divided  parlor.  In  his  eagerness  to  prevent  a  discov 
ery  of  her  rash  venture,  Beauford  threw  open  the  hall 
door  with  no  second  thought.  He  was  astonished  to 
see  General  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  cloaked  for 
departure,  his  alpine  hat  with  its  eagle  feather  in  his 
left  hand.  "Visite  de  ceremonie — not  hostile,"  flashed 
through  Beauford' s  mind. 

With  consummate  politeness  the  Austrian  officer 
paused.  "Are  you  alone,  my  lord!"  With  a  courteous 
wave  of  his  hand,  Beauford  closed  the  door  in  silence. 

"To  what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  your  visit,  Gen 
eral?"  said  Lord  Beauford,  in  that  ceremonious  polite 
ness  which  is  as  distant  as  a  dying  echo.  I 

"I  desired,  as  I  presume  we  both  return  to  Vienna, 
Lord  Beauford,  to  tell  you  that  an  indefinite  delay  in 
my  union  with  Miss  Hartley  may  cause  some  social 
remark  in  Vienna.  As  you  are  a  diplomat  of  the  highest 
grade,  your  simple  kindness  in  referring  to  Miss 
Hartley's  sudden  illness  will  allay  that  curiosity  among 
the  English  of  rank  which  would  naturally  be  ex 
cited.  "For  years  the  silken  voice,  and  keen  attentive 
eye  of  the  visitor  lingered  in  Beauford's  memory. 

"You   are   comparatively   a  stranger    to    me,  Count 


340  THE    ANARCHIST 

Oborski, "  said  Beauford,  who  had  not  asked  his  vis 
itor  to  be  seated,  "but  I  thank  you  for  this  polite 
ness."  In  his  desire  to  prevent  any  possible  dicovery 
of  the  now  thoroughly  frightened  woman,  who  feared 
the  challenge  to  a  deadly  encounter  was  the  object  of 
Oborski's  sudden  appearance,  Lord  Beauford  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  dividing  line  of  the  doors.  The 
urbane  count's  glance  told  him  that  Beauford  was 
really  alone!  The  great  hotel  was  silent,  and  the 
mantel  clock  ticked  noisily  as  Oborski  laid  his  hat  on 
the  table  and  drew  out  a  card  case.  "I  shall  be  glad 
to  call  in  Vienna  and  explain  further.  In  the  mean 
time,"  he  politely  extended  the  card,  "let  me  give 
you  this!"  Thoroughly  lulled  by  the  count's  easy 
courtesy,  Lord  Beauford  extended  his  hand  as  Oborski 
turned  for  his  hat.  With  an  involuntary  glance  at  the 
folding  door,  Beauford's  shoulder  was  turned  toward 
his  visitor. 

"And  this  too!"  hissed  Oborski,  as  the  loud  scream 
of  a  frightened  woman  rang  through  the  silent  halls. 
When  a  dozen  domestics  reached  the  room,  they  started 
back  in  horror!  A  woman  as  fair  as  sunlight  was 
clasping  in  her  arms  Lord  Beauford,  whose  warm  flow 
ing  blood  dabbled  her  laces  and  shining  silken  robes, 
and  pillowed  his  fainting  head  on  her  bosom. 

The  room  w#s  tenantless,  save  for  the  gasping  man 
and  the  distracted  beauty.  There  was  no  dark  token 
of  the  coward  who  had  thrust  a  heavy  knife  into  Beau- 
ford's  back  with  a  force  great  enough  to  fell  him. 

While  the  maitre  d'  hotel  and  medical  aid  toiled  over 
the  man,  faintly  gasping,  as  he  lay  weltering  in  his 
blood,  Lady  Isabel,  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  beg 
ged  for  messengers  to  call  Admiral  Walton  and  Mait- 
land.  The  whirr  of  wheels  resounded  as  the  drivers 


THE   ANARCHIST  34! 

lashed  their  horses.  "Who  has  done  this  foul  deed?" 
gravely  questioned  the  master  of  the  Belle  Etoille,  as 
he  drew  Lady  Isabel  into  the  now  lighted  room  where 
she  had  hidden.  He  recognized  the  English  aristo- 
crate  at  once,  Lady  Isabel's  face  was  as  familiar  as 
the  gallery  masterpieces.  "  Will  he  live?  moaned  the 
woman,  watching  the  attendants  lifting  Lord  Beauford 
and  bearing  him  to  his  bedroom. 

"I  will  tell  you  all  the  moment  Admiral  Walton 
arrives,"  resolutely  said  the  beauty  in  festal  robes, 
spotted  with  her  lover's  blood.  Before  Maitland 
sprang  into  the  room,  followed  by  the  hobbling  admi 
ral,  a  grave-faced  German  physician  announced,  "Mad 
ame,  your  husband  will  live.  Two  inches  lower  and 
the  blow  would  have  been  mortal.  The  knife  turned 
on  the  shoulder  blade  and  has  ripped  open  the  back 
muscles.  It  was  a  fearful  blow!"  The  autocratic  po 
lice  officials  stood  at  the  door,  ready  to  prevent  the 
departure  of  anyone. 

In  the  distance  a  wild  whistle  as  the  train  drew 
out  caused  Maitland  to  whisper  in  Lady  Isabel's  ear 
one  word.  She  bowed  her  head  in  silence.  Philip 
wheeled  around.  "Admiral,"  he  said,  quickly,  "bring 
Evelyn  Hartley  here  at  once.  This  man  saved  my 
life  and  I  will  not  leave  him." 

"Nor  will  I,  until  I  know  him  safe,"  murmured  Lady 
Isabel,  whose  courage  had  returned. 

The  flying  night  express  bore  safely  away  a  white- 
faced  fugitive,  who  whispered  to  himself  in  the  conceal 
ment  of  a  third  class  compartment,  "I  can  leave  on  the 
Bohemian  frontier  at  Eger,  and  working  through  Mor 
avia,  hide  in  the  Carpathians  till  I  can  get  help  from 
Jordanov.  I  struck  twine!"  the  fiend  exulted.  "Now  for 
America,  and  I  will  meet  the  other  face  to  face."  For 


342  THE    ANARCHIST 

Stanislas  Oborski  had  sprung  into  the  Berlin  train  and 
the  telegrams  now  speeding  to  Vienna  to  arouse  the 
British  Embassy,  were  fruitless  as  to  the  capture  of 
the  criminal. 

An  hour  later,  the  apartment  was  silent.  Only  the 
subdued  whispers  of  the  circle  around  Lady  Isabel 
sounded  faintly  in  the  distance.  Through  the  opened 
door  across  the  reception-room,  the  rays  of  the  night- 
lamp  fell  on  Beauford's  waxen  face,  and  the  profile  of 
the  Sister  of  Charity  telling  her  beads.  The  flow  of 
blood  had  ceased.  Admiral  Walton  had  most  haughtily 
informed  the  maitre  d'  hotel  of  Lady  Isabel's  discov 
ery  of  the  crime.  The  name  of  the  perpetrator  was 
withheld  until  the  arrival  of  a  delegate  of  the  British 
Embassy.  But  to  her  own  friends,  Lady  Dunham, 
with  a  shudder,  described  the  flash  of  the  heavy  blade, 
the  malevolence  of  Oborski' s  distorted  face,  and  his 
mad  flight.  From  her  coign  of  vantage  in  the  dark,  she 
could  see  the  movements  of  the  figures  in  the  lighted 
room.  "I  shall  meet  that  hound  yet!"  Maitland  firmly 
said,"  unless  Melchior  collects  his  debt  of  gypsy  hatred 
first" 

An  hour  later,  Evelyn  Hartley  and  Isabel  Dunham 
were  alone,  whispering  secrets  of  womanly  hearts  united 
by  a  tender  bond  at  last.  "He  thought  Beauford  sue 
cessful  in  his  suit,  and  marked  him  for  revenge,"  fal 
tered  Isabel  Dunham.  The  friendly  shadows  of  the 
night  hid  Evelyn  Hartley's  face  and  if  her  secret  heart 
had  a  secret,  it  was  guarded  by  the  genii  of  slumber! 

Two  days  later,  the  city  of  Munich  held  no  visitor 
or  substantial  burgher,  as  well  as  "flaneur"  of  the  clubs 
who  did  not  know  that  the  great  Count  Oborski  was 
summarily  dismissed  from  his  rank  and  command. 
A  cipher  telegram  at  Chemnitz,  announced  to  Doctor 


THE   ANARCHIST  343 

Carl  Stein,  now  in  an  ecstasy  of  rage,  an  anarchistic 
address  where  the  quondam  general,  now  a  disgraced 
and  foiled  assassin,  could  be  reached. 

"He  shall  be  put  in  the  front  rank  of  American 
adventure  for  the  cause!  He  will  be  under  my  orders," 
growled  Stein,  "and  if  he  is  killed,  then  at  least  my 
personal  connection  with  his  futile  plots  is  covered  by 
his  grave  mound!"  Stein,  in  the  coming  possession 
of  an  available  sum  of  gold  for  his  campaign  in  the 
United  States,  decided  that  the  useless  Pole  should 
report  alone  at  the  secret  anarchistic  depot  in  New 
York.  He  so  answered  the  telegram  adding  the  man 
datory  silence  signal  which  enforced  Oborski's  obedi 
ence.  "I  will  close  this  matter  with  Maitland,  it  will 
clear  me  to  show  myself  at  Munich,  pass  on  to  Lau 
sanne,  see  Davidoff,  and  then — for  the  turning  wheels 
of  revolution.  The  cause  moves  on!  But  for  this  fools 
mad  passion  for  a  gypsy  stroller,  the  creed  would  have 
gained  a  million  in  gold  equal  to  an  army  corps  in 
strength!  But,  there  are  other  rich  women  in  America,  I 
might  palm  him  off  on  some  widow  of  colossal  wealth. 
His  broad  flattery  and  passion  play  can  be  made  use 
ful  !  He  shall  serve  me  seven  years  for  his  bride,  and 
never  gain  his  freedom!  And  so  Carl  Stein  passed 
onward  to  face  the  enemy  in  the  new  land  of  the 
West.  Defeat  never  hinted  of  despair  to  him!  It 
was  only  another  phase  of  the  human  chess-board,  and 
he  bent  his  brows  anew  to  his  game  of  life  and  death. 
A  pawn  of  Fate  himself,  he  moved  in  her  blind  toils! 

On  the  arrival  of  the  first  secretary  of  legation  of 
the  British  Embassy  at  Vienna,  Alfred  Beauford,  who 
was  now  progressing  toward  recovery,  was  able  to 
undergo  the  fatigue  of  a  short  but  meaning  conversation 
with  Lady  Isabel  Dunham.  The  first  request  of  the 


344  THE  ANARCHIST 

wounded  man  astonished  the  official  representative  ot 
Her  Majesty.  "Twant  a  clergyman,"  briefly  directed 
Beauford,  "An  English  clergyman." 

"Nonsense,  man!  You  are  not  about  to  die,"  said 
the  secretary,  who  had  learned  to  love  Beauford  in  their 
association.  "You  need  no  preparation!" 

" I  am  about  to  prepare  to  live,"  said  Lord  Alfred, 
and  the  attache"  hurried  away  with  a  glance  of  admi 
ration  at  the  beauty  of  his  friend's  nurse,  now  as  hap 
py  as  woman,  dainty  and  changing,  can  be  in  this 
world  of  ours. 

The  interview  of  the  invalid  seemed  to  have  been 
of  an  important  character,  for,  though  it  consisted 
of  a  few  sentences,  it  brought  beautiful  Evelyn  in  her 
traveling  costume,  Admiral  Horatio  Walton,  in  a  state 
of  mental  exaltation,  and  Philip  Maitland,  with  a 
strange  look  in  his  eyes,  to  Lord  Beauford's  sick 
couch. 

The  Minister  to  Persia  had  whispered  to  sweet  Lady 
Isabel,  "You  sent  me  to  Teheran,  lasbel?  I  wish  you 
to  do  me  a  little  favor?"  Their  eyes  met  and  the  past 
rolled  away  as  a  scroll!  They  were  walking  again, 
with  the  sunlight  of  life's  morning  gilding  their  path, 
under  the  branching  oaks  of  Ventnor  Hall ! 
"  Will  you  go  out  there  with  me?" 

The  loving  and  lovely  woman,  to  whom  he  owed  his 
life,  placed  her  hand  in  his  now  feeble  grasp.  He 
gently  disengaged  his  left  hand,  and  placed  a  worn, 
thin  golden  band  in  her  trembling  grasp. 

"It  was  my  mother'' s  wedding  ring!"  he  said,  as  her 
eyes  shone  down  on  him  in  speechless  tenderness. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  as,  at  a  signal  from 
Evelyn  Hartley,  a  half  hour  later,  the  party,  soon  to 
part  at  the  beck  and  call  of  fate,  saw  the  hands  of  the 


THE  ANAfcCHtst  345 

estranged  lovers  joined  forever!  Philip  Maitland 
remembered  years  later  a  certain  beautiful,  dark-eyed 
one,  whose  eyes  were  never  raised  as  the  clergyman, 
with  commendable  dispatch,  recited  the  marriage  serv 
ice. 

"Now  you  must  surely  come  to  Ventnor,  if  you  will  not 
visit  Jervaux, "  said  Beauford,  as  Evelyn  Hartley  kissed 
his  brow.  For  there,  before  them  all,  Lady  Isabel 
Beauford  had  kissed  the  lips  of  the  man  whose  heart 
had  been  hers  in  the  by-gone  days. 

"I  will  be  there  at  your  home-coming!"  said  Evleyn 
Hartley.  "And  you,  too,  Phil,"  remarked  the  happy 
groom,  his  eyes  seeking  his  old  comrade. 

"That  depends  on  many  things!  said  Philip,  gravely. 

When  they  were  alone,  Isabel  Beauford  whispered,  as 
her  eyes  shone  in  love  upon  him,  and  his  arms  were 
feebly  stretched  toward  her,  "Do  you  remember  when 
we  read  'Maud'  under  the  dear  old  trees.  I  have  the 
treasured  copy  yet  where  you  marked, 

'O  that  't'were  possible  after  long  grief  and  pain, 

To  find  the  arms  of  my  true  love  round  me  once  again?' " 

He  kissed  her  trembling  hand  in  a  happy  silence! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  OCEAN  TOBACCO  PARLIAMENT — FROM  VIENNA  TO  VENT- 

NOR A    HARD  WINTER — THE     RISING     STORMr — THE     RED 

FLAG     WAVED     ALOFT — COUNT     OBORSKI      ONCE       MORE — 

EVELYN     HARTLEY    FINDS     A     GOLDEN     KEY AFTER     THE 

CYCLONE 

THREE  weeks  after  Maitland  had  assisted  at  the  very 
peculiar  wedding  scene  at  the  Hotel  Belle  Etoile,  he 
saw  with  satisfaction  the  shores  of  England  fade  from 


346  THE    ANARCHIST 

view.  There  was  a  certain  sense  of  pride  as  he 
observed  the  American  flag  waving  above  him  as  the 
"New  York"  sped  over  the  chopping  seas  without  a 
tremor.  By  dint  of  great  exertion,  he  had  reached 
Southampton  in  time  to  join  several  returning  friends. 
They  were  men  who  were  trusted  members  of  the  silent 
American  league  of  Home  Defenders.  Among  them  was 
the  distinguished  statesman,  Senator  Atherton,  return 
ing  from  a  mysterious  tour  through  Europe.  "If  there 
were  reporters  of  our  'home  school'  here,  they  certainly 
would  have  divined  his  mission  of  quiet  conference 
with  our  representatives  abroad,"  thought  Philip. 
"But  journalism,  in  its  mechanism,  varies  greatly. 
The  great  newspaper  of  the  future  will  be  the  trusted 
ally  of  the  state,  a  true  voice  of  the  people— at  once 
arbiter,  referee,  educator.  It  will  be  one  step  toward 
the  millennium,"  reflected  Maitland,  "a  general  pub 
lic  opinion,  properly  called  out  by  calm  and  disinter 
ested  journalistic  appeal,  is  the  soundest  verdict  of  a 
civilized  people! 

"Before  its  mighty  power,  party  divisions  vanish, 
bigotry  is  hushed,  and  the  aggregate  chorus  of  approval 
drowns  futile  dissension.  It  would  astound  the  hered 
itary  rulers  of  Europe  to  realize  that  nothing  can  with 
stand  the  cumulative  force  of  a  free  and  united  press 
in  a  reading  country!"  Maitland  was  happy  as  he 
turned  his  eyes  to  his  native  land,  lying  far  behind 
the  golden  sunset! 

"All  in  all,  I  have  not  thrown  my  time  away,"  he 
reflected  as  he,  with  the  deftness  of  practice,  arranged 
the  temporary  comforts  of  his  state-room,  "I  think 
Beauford  did  well  to  leave  the  case  of  Count  Oborski 
with  the  Austrian  court  officials.  He  is  out  of  their 
power  now,  at  any  rate.  Alfred's  orders,  and  his 
wounded  condition,  favored  his  veiled  lethargy. 


THE  ANARCHIST  347 

"By  Jove!  thought  Philip,  as  he  left  for  a  stroll  on 
deck,  "the  noble  Pole  will  not  intentionally  run  into 
Melchior's  hands.  Evelyn  Hartley's  gift  to  Etelka 
will  be  a  handsome  dower,  should  the  accidents  of  life 
make  her  a  widow.  With  that  fellow's  linguistic 
accomplishments,  South  America  or  Mexico  will  open 
a  fair  field  to  his  exercise  of  his  many  talents. 

"Yet  the  punishment  he  flees  from  may  meet  him 
there!  He  would  not  dare  to  try  the  United  States! 
He  is  too  romantic  a  personage  to  be  long  concealed. " 
The  returning  American  did  not  realize  that  on  the 
very  craft  bearing  him  along,  were  a  score  of  the  flee 
ing  scoundrels  of  Europe,  seeking  the  open  doors  of 
the  United  States.  For  fifty  year,  this  tainted  stream 
of  corruption  has  silently  flowed  in  upon  us,  and  set 
tling  in  the  lower  levels  of  life,  by  the  accident  of 
fortune,  these  foul  fugitives  when  talented  or  interest 
ing,  have  been  tossed  up  by  the  waves  of  fortune  into 
rich  alliance,  high  station  and  undeserved  power. 

As  Philip  paced  the  deck  he  fondly  followed  the 
friends  who  grew  so  strangely  near  to  each  other,  in 
the  exciting  days  at  Munich. 

Gazing  on  the  low  shores  of  Albion,  where  green 
oaks  and  smooth  green  pastures  spoke  of  peace  and 
homely  cheer,  he  pictured  the  coming  gathering  at 
Ventnor  Hall. 

It  was  a  fortunate  chance  that  Lord  Beauford's 
orders  to  repair  to  London,  receive  his  instructions  and 
then  proceed  by  steamer  to  his  post,  had  awaited  him 
at  Vienna. 

Lord  Weathersford  congratulated  that  most  charm 
ing  of  diplomates,  Lady  Isabel,  upon  this  chance  run 
to  England. 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity  to  get    up  an  outfit. 


ANARCHIST 

There  is  nothing  at  Teheran  but  carpets  and  shawls. 
The  British  Residency  is  even  more  comfortable  than 
the  Shah's  Palace,  but  you  must  take  all  with  you.  By 
all  means,  take  two  lady  companions.  There  are  only 
fifty  Europeans  there.  You  will  be  lonely." 

"Why  two?"  said  the  puzzled  bride. 

"You  should  have  an  ugly  one  and  a  handsome  one! 
The  pretty  one  will  surely  marry  off  at  once.  The  few 
swains  there  are  very  gallant.  The  ugly  one  will  look 
to  you  to  get  her  back  to  England,  and  will  stay! 

"Then  I  will  not  have  much  society?"  laughed  Lady 
Isabel. 

"Only  an  occasional  grand  fete  at  court,  or  a  peep  at 
the  Harem.  Teheran  is  a  beastly  place.  I  was  there 
in  my  junior  days.  The  great  plain  is  uninteresting,  the 
mud  houses  and  heavy  earthen  wall  are  not  imposing. 
Throw  away  your  Lalla  Rookh.  There  is  not  much 
of  the 'bulbuP  and  'roses  by  the  calm  Bendemeer,'  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  You  will  not  miss  it  much!  You 
and  Beauford  can  read  up  Firdusi,  Sadi,  Hafiz,  Djami, 
and  my  old  friend  Omar  Khayan,  and  I  lancy  time 
will  not  hang  heavy  on  your  hands!  Haroun  al  Ras- 
chid  never  wandered  back  to  his  birthplace  under  the 
snows  of  the  Elburz  but  you  can  recall  him  when  you 
masquerade  as  Fatima! 

"All  in  all,  you  will  have  a  jolly  time,  for  they  will 
send  you  up  the  gulf  in  a  British  man-of-war.  The 
gallant  officers  will  be  your  slaves.  Now,  your  lovely 
American  friend  would  be  an  ideal  companion!" 

"Alas!  She  returns  to  her  home  after  her  first  visit 
at  Ventnor  and,  after  Admiral  Walton  has  shown  her 
the  beauties  of  Yorkshire." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  trust  to  Beauford  to  make  the 
Persian  days  happy  for  you!  I  was  young  and  alone 


THE    ANARCHIST  349 

there,"  said    Weathersford.      "/   had   no    angel   in    the 
house!"     He    bowed  in  courtly  gallantry. 

Isabel  Beauford's  happy  heart  was  ready  for  the 
Persian  sands  or  lands  of  snows,  now  that  her  love 
of  a  life  was  by  her  side! 

Maitland's  parting  from  Evelyn  Hartley  returned  to 
his  mind,  as  the  sea-gulls  rose  and  screamed  their 
hoarse  adieu,  dropping  off,  one  by  one,  to  the  attractions 
of  the  shore. 

Philip  had  not  trusted  himself  to  receive  the  will 
ing  confidence  of  Miss  Hartley.  "I  know  you  have 
been  sorely  beset  with  sorrow  and  exciting  troubles.  I 
shall  wait  you  at  home,"  he  said  to  Evleyn,  "and  next 
winter,  you  can  enliven  the  long  hours  for  Judge  Fox 
and  myself  with  this  story  of  romance.  You  will  not 
miss  me!  Your  affairs  are  safely  closed  here.  Alton 
is  a  splendid  counselor  at  London,  should  you  need 
him,  and  I  can  gladden  Judge  Fox  with  reporting  the 
manly  behavior  of  Doctor  Stein  in  effecting  the  Rhein- 
gold  settlement!" 

Maitland  treasured  for  years,  the  thrilling  glance  of 
grateful  Evelyn  Hartley  as  she  laid  her  hands  in  his, 
in  good-bye. 

"I  shall  have  gained  one  thing  worth  all  these    trials, 
for  when  I  come  home,  you    will  still    be    my  'brother 
Philip  r" 

"I  suppose  that  Admiral  Walton  will  be  the  Master 
of  Revels  at  the  now  united  estates,  when  Lord  and 
Lady  Beauford  return  from  London.  Their  court 
presentation  will  bring  sweet  Lady  Isabel  before  that 
August  Personage,  whom  some  Americans  fancy  takes 
her  afternoon  nap  with  the  state  crown  on  her  head, 
and  the  Kohinoor  dangling  on  her  finger." 

It  was  true  that  Horatio  Walton's    local    pride  was 


350  THE  ANARCHIST 

touched.  Even  if  his  beloved  niece  had  failed  to 
become  Beauford's  wife  and  be  welded  into  that  shining 
angel  band  of  hope,  the  nobility  of  England,  he  had 
lived  to  see  the  two  estates  joined  at  last, and  the  local 
map  of  Yorkshire  vastly  improved. 

"Beauford  might  have  done  far  worse!  Isabel  is  a 
rare  beauty,  and  she  brings  her  husband  land  and  influ 
ence.  I  wonder  why  the  dickens  this  did  not  come 
off  before?"  The  old  sybarite  forgot,  over  his  brandy 
pawnee,  General  Dunham  snugly  tucked  away  in  a 
neat  tomb  in  India,  and  the  late  Lord  Ventnor' s  calm 
award  of  the  timid  girl's  hand.  "I  shall  have  a  jolly 
lark  at  Ventnor,"  mused  the  admiral,  for  that  lively 
military  pilgrim,  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  with  unerring  sagac 
ity  had  telegraphed  to  the  admiral.  "I  will  come  down 
to  Ventnor  and  go  out  to  India  with  dear  Isabel. 

"Admirable  woman!"  mused  the  old  sailer,  as  he  sud 
denly  thought  of  his  present  loneliness.  "If  I  had 
met  some  such  cheery  soul,  what  happiness  I  might 
have  enjoyed.  A  man  in  my  position  might  even  now!" 

The  veteran  dozed  over  his  glass  in  ignorance  of  the 
fact,  that  several  mammas  had  searched  the  columns 
of  the  retired  Navy  list,  and,  that  his  hale,  sturdy  age 
was  admiringly  pictured  to  various  British  maidens  of 
good  form,  now  turning  eyes  toward  his  reat  finan 
cial  availability  as  a  husband! 

"There  is  one  consolation  in  the  whole  Munich 
episode,"  thought  Philip,  as  he  closed  his  review  of 
the  late  occurrences."  The  chief  actors  are  all  scat 
tered!  The  whole  occurrence  will  fade  away.  Events 
in  high  life,  political  surprises,  anarchistic  plots, 
financial  storms,  military  combinations,  and  the  uneasy 
restlessness  of  the  time  on  the  continent  will  efface 
the  Oborski  episode."  With  a  certain  solicitude,  he 


THE    ANARCHIST  35! 

regarded  Professor  Stein's  sudden  departure  for  Amer 
ica.  "Can  he  mean  to  trouble  the  estate  legally  in  the 
United  States?"  Maitland  was  growing  suspicious  of 
Stein's  continued  prowling  around  the  Hartley  family. 

"Can  there  be  any  hidden  skeleton!  Has  he  any 
papers  or  secrets  of  David  Hartley?"  For  among  Eve 
lyn's  last  words  were  the  doubts  she  unfolded  of  the 
scholar's  integrity.  "/  know  not  why,  Philip,  but  I 
distrust  this  man.  He  seems  to  wear  a  suit  of  armor 
hiding  his  real  nature.  I  have  felt,  since  my  father's 
death,  that  Stein  was  a  factor  in  many  things  which 
can  not  be  explained.  Beware  of  him!  I  know  not 
why,  but  it  is  a  woman's  reason,  my  instinctive  dis 
like  of  the  hidden  nature  he  owns.  He  seems  to  have 
acted  fairly  and  it  certainly  looks  as  if  he  were  not 
Oborski's  confidant!  But  beware — near  or  far— that 
man  is  busied  with  mischief." 

When  the  smoking-room  began  to  fill  up,  after  the 
first  night's  dinner  of  broken  detachments,  Philip 
Maitland  was  already  an  occupant  of  a  cozy  corner. 

He  had  scanned  with  idle  curiosity  the  main  salon, 
and  from  a  distance  observed  the  good  gray  head  of 
Senator  Atherton  at  the  table  of  honor.  The  states- 

•» 

man's  silver  hair  was  a  foil  to  several  American  ladies, 
returning  from  the  annual  "beauty  parade"  abroad, 
who  were  pets  of  the  austere  captain. 

Near  them,  "as  the  burthened  bee  forth-issues  from 
the  rose,"  hovered  several  youths,  whose  raiment, alone, 
was  faultless.  In  the  storms  of  life,  deciding  such* 
weighty  matters  as  the  model  of  sleeve  links,  the  proper 
roll  of  a  vest  and  the  swing  of  trousers,  their  wearied 
heads  were  sustained  only  by  rigid  collars  of  Hima 
layan  height.  With  rapid  interest  these  blase"  sons  of 
Mammon  ignored  the  conversation  of  the  senator  and 


352  THE    ANARCHIST 

a  great  London  financier,  and  regarded  furtively  the 
ladies,  their  country  women,  with  that  particular 
detailed  stare  which  is  a  crowning  insult. 

A  good  humored  nod  from  the  senator  found  Philip 
anchored  in  Bohemia.  A  consumptive  Denver  gam 
bler,  and  a  gentleman  who  wore  a  fur  coat  and  carpet 
slippers,  (with  his  boot  legs  full  of  diamonds),  were 
his  right  and  .left  hand  supporters.  A  disgusted  Amer 
ican  ex-consul,  and  a  recalcitrant  Cook's  Tourist  were 
opposite,  while  the  flower  of  the  table  was  a  vivacious 
young  woman  from  Oshkosh,  who  had  failed  to  "rival 
Patti.  ' 

"Verily,  my  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places," 
mused  Philip,  as  he  sought  the  upper  deck.  The  nod 
from  Senator  Atherton  caused  the  vigilant  Purser  to 
at  once  ask  Maitland  if  he  would  like  "to  be  trans 
ferred!" 

As  he  was  not  seeking  social  distinction,  nor  yet  an 
applicant  for  office,  the  man  from  Cleveland  thanked 
the  all-powerful  official  and  "preferred  to  retain  his 
seat!"  "That  is,  if  rude  old  Boreas  will  permit,"  he 
mentally  added.  The  usual  smoking-room  comedy  was 
on!  An  English  ex-groom  and  an  alleged  foreign 
nobleman  had  at  once  recalled  an  acquaintance  "at 
court!"  Several  lustrous-eyed  men,  with  solitaire  dia 
mond  rings  of  uniform  magnitude,  were  talking  of 
"goods"  in  thick  voices,  and  the  hollow-chested  gam 
bler  was  throwing  out  prehensile  feelers  for  the 
"society  men,"  as  soon  as  the  B  and  S  had  given 
them  courage.  In  a  corner  a  red-faced  Scotchman  in 
a  Glengarry,  was  loudly  disputing  with  a  loud-voiced 
Celt,  sporting  a  harp  of  Erin  in  his  tie,  as  to  the  advis 
ability  of  Home  Rule.  Diagonally,  a  sanctimonious 
shepherd  ol  the  Lord  was  smoothly  persuading  a  par- 


THE  ANARCHIST  353 

ticularly  tough  looking  citizen,  that  "intemperance  had 
killed  more  men  than  war!"  Philip  Maitland,  with  an 
amused  smile,  was  recalling  the  trite  remark  that  "it 
takes  more  than  one  animal  to  make  up  a  complete 
show,"  when,  the  captain  "having  risen"  (an  event  of 
moment  on  shipboard),  the  released  exquisites  poured 
in,  the  ladies  having  yielded  to  the  heavings  in  their 
gentle  bosoms  caused  by  a  slightly  chopping  sea. 
These  "symphonies  in  pink  and  white"  were  moaning 
under  the  ministrations  of  their  French  maids,  who  had 
already  reached  that  bedraggled  state  of  misery  pecu 
liar  to  soubrettes  at  sea!  Behind  this  "frangipanni" 
of  humanity,  came  Senator  Atherton  and  Horace  Wai- 
ford  Esq.,  of  London.  Mr.  Walford  officially  upheld 
Her  Majesty's  peace,  and  like  every  other  English 
man  not  actually  in  jail,  was  "talked  of  for  Parlia 
ment."  He  seemed  to  feel  the  doom  from  which  he 
could  not  escape,  and  had  already  acquired  the  grave 
air  of  an  M.  P.  His  delightful  mission  of  bullying 
some  back  interest  out  of  a  bankrupt  American  rail 
road,  company  led  him  to  our  shores  in  the  unlovely 
light  of  a  pessimist.  He  was  carrying  a  great  deal  of 
London  fog  with  him  !  The  cordial  greeting  of  Sen 
ator  Atherton  caused  the  watchful  Briton  to  admit 
Maitland,  on  due  presentation,  to  the  outer  ante-room 
of  his  acquaintance.  In  some  vague  way,  Walford 
regarded  Senator  Atherton  as  a  hereditary  prince  of 
the  "States,"  as  he  termed  our  republic.  A  shadowy 
brevet  of  Duke  of  Niagara — or  Lord  of  the  Marches 
of  Indiana,  clung  to  the  senator  in  the  Englishman's 
mind,  and  he  decided  to  stick  to  him,  until  he  had 
reached  the  Waldorf  in  safety! 

Many    thrilling    accounts    of    Britons    devoured    by 
"green   goods"  men,  (a  sort  of  Fenian,)  run   down  by 


354  THE  ANARCHIST 

"Buffalo  specials"  in  the  streets,  or  slain  in  encounters 
with  the  "Bandits  of  Wall  street"  he  had  read  in  a  great 
New  York  journal,  whose  name  I  would  not  "wrap  in 
my  more  rawer  breath,"  for  obvious  reasons!  Both 
the  gentlemen,  having  passed  the  trials  of  the  age  of 
love,  rum,  and  cards,  were  free  to  interrogate  Maitland 
as  to  the  state  of  continental  as  well  as  American  pol 
itics.  In  their  coign  of  vantage,  they  talked  of  the 
disturbed  money-market  of  the  world.  Mr.  Walford 
was  eminently  sound  in  his  special  branch  of  knowl 
edge,  and  quietly  remarked  that  the  lack  of  confidence 
of  the  great  leaders,  was  due  to  the  fear  of  either 
unnecessary  continental  war  or  the  future  disturb 
ances  of  anarchism. 

Little. dreaming  that  Atherton,  (an  adviser  of  the 
government),  and  Maitland, (a  trusted  home  defender), 
were  specially  interested,  he  said:  "This  is  a  natural 
progress  in  the  evolution  of  distrust!  Agitation, 
murmuring,  conspiracy,  ultra-socialism,  class  rebel 
lion,  mad  parliamentary  misconduct,  and  finally  prac 
tical  anarchism,  drives  capital  to  its  hidden  holes! 
It  draws  away  its  support  from  the  manufacturer. 
Trade  is  then  paralyzed,  demand  ceases,  markets  are 
glutted,  strikes  occur,  the  workers  are  embittered,  and 
fear  rules  the  money-world.  The  men  who  now  terror 
ize  Spain,  Italy  and  France,  the  adventurers  who 
excite  Germany  and  Switzerland  are  the  grandsons  of 
the  men  of  '93 — the  sons  of  the  defeated  revolutionists 
of  '48 — and  the  youngest  brood  are  the  revengeful  spawn 
of  the  unforgiving  fiends  of  the  Commune  of  '70.  This 
is  the  era  of  the  false  prophet,  in  mind,  in  morals, 
in  religion,  in  political  economy!  Even  the  family  tie 
is  not  safe! 

"I  call  your  attention,"  said  he,    "to  the  fact  that  a 


THE  ANARCHIST  355 

vicious  leaven  was  left  in  Russia,  by  the  scores  of 
thousands  of  French  prisoners  in  1812.  Their  descend 
ants  and  French  influence  have  left  a  dangerous  stamp 
of  wild  laxity,  and  ferocity,  in  the  place  of  the  old 
Boyar  staunchness. 

"I  look  backward  to  the  Reformation  as  the  hot-bed 
of  German  materialism,  for  the  opportunity  for  mental 
license  was  availed  of.  Followed  up  by  Rousseau  and 
Voltaire,  the  free-thinker  went  on  to  the  'ad  absurd  urn!' 
Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Walford,  "7  hate  republics!" 
His  listeners  started  at  his  sturdy  frankness.  "The 
first  French  republic,  tore  down  the  creeds  of  a  world— 
your  own  republic  in  fatal  weakness,  has  left 
Almighty  God  out  of  its  Constitution,  and  the  Swiss 
republic  has  given  the  plotting  scoundrels  of  the 
world  a  refuge  for  generations!  It  is  the  cardinal 
point  of  republican  freedom  to  ignore  God,  and  screen 
the  political  conspirator!  Then,  count  me  in  with 
Church  and  State.  Any  Church — any  State!"  cried 
Horace  Walford,  "is  better  than  republican  laxity  of 
national  morals!" 

Senator  Atherton  and  Maitland  exchanged  glances. 

"Do  not  smile,  my  friends,"  the  Englishman  said, 
"You  admit  the  scum  of  the  earth  to  not  only  a  refuge, 
but  citizenship'.  How  many  of  you  have  even  pon 
dered  on  Washington's  remarks  as  to  foreign  influence. 
America  is  the  refuge  of  the  anaemic  human  filth  of 
Europe,  and  its  unpunished  criminals.  Despotic  Rus 
sia  (laughed  at  by  some)  gives  'permission  de  sejoir' 
tickets  and  selects  its  citizens!  Here,  in  England,  we 
have  a  marked  difference  between  the  citizen  and  the 
resident!  In  the  United  States  you  have  thrown  the 
kingly  privilege  of  citizenship  open  to  the  vilest.  The 
vote  of  a  fleeing  Sicilian  bandit,  fresh  from  La  Mafia, 


356  THE    ANARCHIST 

counteracts  the  vote  of  an  ex-President  in  your  land. 
Alien  contract  labor  to  day  debauches  your  home 
markets.  The  doors  are  pushed  inward  on  you  by  this 
flood  of  undesirables!  You  have  no  natural  nerve  or 
you  would  stop  it!  Free  in  name,  your  monied  class 
distinctives  are  despotic.  I  read  in  the  same  New 
York  journal  in  parallel  columns  the  other  day,  that  a 
millionairess  took  a  salad  bowl  full  of  diamonds,  rubies 
and  other  gems  to  be  reset  for  a  ball,  the  pendant,  be 
ing  the  item  that  a  blameless  woman,  of  decent  char 
acter,  had  died  in  miser}'  in  the  same  city,  actually 
lacking  food,  while  hiding  from  proposals  of  a  life  of 
shame!  You  need  to  mix  with  your  development  of 
cold  intelligence,  in  your  high- pressure  schools,  some 
form  of.  practical  morality.  I  care  not  what  it  be — if 
you  cultivate  the  heart  and  morals.  I  am  told  that 
social  competition  and  money  greed,  that  later  luxury, 
and  all  that  comes  from  license,  is  weakening  the 
family  tie  in  America  to  a  great  degree.  You  have 
departed  from  old  safeguards  and  you  live  in  a  'go- 
as-you-please'  country.  A  church,  even  if  conserva 
tive,  sets  up  a  public  standard  of  morals,  and  a  repu 
table  aristocracy  (not  one  of  mere  money)  provides  an 
example  of  conduct!" 

"But  your  own  church  has  its  black  sheep?"  said 
Atherton  keenly.  "True!  But  the  fault  is  with  human 
nature — not  the  doctrine.  It  is  better  than  godlessness 
by  law!"  The  senator  was  silenced. 

"Your  London  fast  set  of  the  nobility,  rival  the  heroes 
of  the  Decameron,"  remarked  Maitland  hotly. 

"And  yet,  even  you  will  admit  the  conspicuous 
offenders  are  dropped  forever,  by  the  honorable  nobil 
ity.  They  are  the  failures  of  the  proverb  'noblesse 
oblige,'  and  the  most  despised  men  and  women  in 


THE    ANARCHIST  357 

Great  Britain.  Their  fall  buries  them  forever!  Now,  "said 
Walford,  "I  will  tell  you  that  European  confidence  in  the 
American  system  is  greatly  shaken!  Investments  are 
being  withdrawn,  money  does  not  seek  you  blindly,  and 
you  are  ruining  your  golden  prime  by  the  neglect  of 
holding  up  American  citizenship.  Institutions,  even 
investments  and  securities  reflect  the  character  of  a 
people  and  their  laws. 

"Do  you  think  you  are  free  from  coming  anarchistic 
outbreaks  in  America?"  quietly  concluded  Walford. 
"You  are  very  near  it!  The  European  governments  will 
soon  combine  in  a  Universal  Board  of  Political  Health. 
Naturally,  cool  repression,  intelligent  measures,  will 
drive  every  cowardly  dynamiter  in  the  world  to  your 
shores,  and  these  fellows,  in  the  face  of  your  loose 
government,  your  trifling  army,  your  skeleton  national 
guard,  will  carry  on  their  damnable  trade  of  terrorism, 
demoralization,  and  destruction.  German  materialism, 
the  wars  of  Napoleon,  and  French  atheism,  is  working 
out  now  in  the  terrible  punishment  of  the  third  gener 
ation !  As  it  stands,  America  is  the  safest  field  for  these 
blatherskite  cowards!  You  will  hear  from  them!  Set 
your  house  in  order!" 

Senator  Atherton  and  Maitland  exchanged  glances  as 
the  red-faced  Briton  consulted  his  Frodsham,  swal 
lowed  his  "spirits,"  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe, 
leaving  the  smoking-room  in  an  eclispe  of  gloom  when 
his  painfully  illustrated  ulster  disappeared  for  the 
night ! 

In  later  converse,  while  the  human  menagerie  was 
in  full  show,  as  the  boat  leaped  over  the  curling  waves, 
the  senator  and  the  young  committeeman  exchanged 
their  fears.  "I  must  say,  Philip,"  said  Senator  Ather 
ton,  "The  state  of  our  country  is  to-day  far  from  seren- 


358  THE    ANARCHIST 

ity,  or  stability, in  its  policy,  its  finances,  its  social  work 
ings,  and  all  its  ethical  relations.  It  is  absurd  to  say 
that  a  pure  national  spirit  pervades  the  land  with  its 
sectional  interests,  its  diverse  flags,  creeds,  strains  of 
blood,  and  domestic  habits.  I  do  look  forward  with  some 
alarm!  The  once  vacant  land  is  settled!  Neighbors  do 
not  need  each  others  friendly  offices.  The  rich  coldly 
scorn  the  poor.  Our  idle  young  men  of  wealth  drift 
into  vice.  There  is  no.  dignified  permanent  public 
service  to  tempt  them !  Agnosticism  is  fashionable, 
and  we  seem  to  have  developed  a  worship  of  the  body, 
born  of  luxury.  I  care  not  for  orthodoxy,  but  I  do 
for  general  religious  effort.  Old  as  I  am,  I  can  remem 
ber  my  mother  with  her  Bible.  I  do  not  believe  a 
man  ever  lived  who  dared  to  tear  the  Bible  from  his 
mother's  hand!  I  shall  make  a  secret  report  upon  the 
general  European  condition  of  upheaval!  It  is  for 
the  younger  men,  like  yourself,  to  face  the  storm,  to 
fight  the  fight  of  order,  and  to  gradually  reform  our 
national  spirit.  But  an  immediate  system  of  rigid 
inspection  of  all  arrivals,  and  a  radical  change  of  our 
naturalization  laws  will  alone  save  us  bloody  scenes !  My 
last  hope  is  in  the  South  and  West  and  in  the  support 
of  the  country  people.  Our  great  cities  are  congested. 

The  'machine'  must  go !  And,  one  by  one,  its  'pot 
house'  dictators,  its  'district  dukes'  and  'ward  bar 
ons'  will  enter  the  penitentiary.  -  This  is  inevitable. 
The  right  will  triumph,  for  all  over  our  scattered  great 
cities,  the  search-light  of  the  press  is  turned  on  t]iese 
scoundrels  now!  There  is  truth  in  Walford's  remarks 
about  our  waning  family  ties,  and  the  concrete  power 
of  gold !" 

The  old  statesman's  brow  was  clouded  as  he  sought 
his  hiding-place  in  the  steel-plated  cupboard  termed 


THE    ANARCHIST  359 

"a  palatial  stateroom,"  in  the  florid  language  of  adver 
tisement. 

Philip  Maitland,  smoking  his  last  cigar  alone  on 
deck,  looked  up  and  saw  one  great  white  star  looking 
through  the  flying  scud,  "I  will  go  home  to  my  native 
land,  and  face  whatever  storm  menaces  our  homes.  The 
young  men  of  our  day  have  the  blood  of  'sixty  one'  in 
their  veins!  If  it  is  necessary  to  put  sentinels  on  the 
battlements  of  freedom,  the  call  to  arms  will  find  them 
there!  And,  please  God,  I  shall  be  among  them!  There 
will  be  a  struggle  to  the  death  around  our  homes,  the 
scene  of  our  purest  joys,  the  theatre  of  every  hope, 
before  the  Red  Flag  of  Destruction  waves  over  the  ruin 
of  the  American  republic! 

"There  is  an  infinite  promise  in  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ? 
as  holy  to-day  as  when  it  waved  on  the  sunset-field 
of  Gettysburg  over  forty  thousand  dead  and  dying ! 
The  'mystic  chords  of  memory'  shall  stretch  out  from 
these  silent  graves  and  awaken  us,  in  their  thrill  to 
nobler  deeds  of  manhood!" 

While  the  "New  York"  swept  toward  America, with  its 
motley  delegation  from  the  Tower  of  Babel,  Miss  Eve 
lyn  Hartley  was  the  animating  "star"  of  Ventnor  Hall. 
Lord  Derwentwater  was  fain  to  offer  the  courtesies  of 
Jervaux,  and  the  American  heiress  gazed  upon  the  glo 
ries  of  the  Beauford  line  with  a  sisterly  pride.  Even 
the  lively  companionship  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger  did  not  dis 
pel  a  lingering  feeling  of  envy !  The  old  ancestral  pile, 
with  its  quaint  clinging  stories  of  the  wars  of  Round 
head  and  Cavalier,  wore  its  grave  and  reverend  crown 
of  dignity.  The  very  oaks  bowed  beneath  druidic 
mistletoe  were  brethren  of  Boscobel  and  the  glories  of 
cabinet,  picture  gallery  and  armory,  thrilled  the 
romantic  woman!  While  Admiral  Horatio  Walton, 


360  THE    ANARCHIST 

and  that  congenial  military  dame,  Mrs.  St.  Leger, 
made  brave  show  in  the  preparation  for  the  brief  home 
coming,  Evelyn  Hartley  had  time  to  cast  up  the 
accounts  of  her  heart  life.  Frankly  and  with  no  bitter 
ness,  she  realized  that  a  sense  of  personal  honor  alone 
led  Alfred  Beauford  to  offer  her  his  name  and  to  ask 
her  hand  in  marriage.  The  resolute  American  girl 
could  not  but  admire  the  manly  tender  of  his  hand  in 
marriage. 

"To  give  all  "this  up,"  she  thought,  as  she  walked 
the  moonlit  terrace  of  the  Priory,  "would  have  broken 
his  proud  heart.  In  the  sensitive  mood  of  an  indi 
rect  debtor,  he  would  have  made  me  the  Lady  of  Jer- 
vaux.  It  would  have  been  his  only  way  to  directly 
accept  from  me,  what  was  next  to  his  life,  these  storied 
scenes  of  his  boyhood.  The  birthplace  of  long  for 
gotten  ancestors,  and  the  very  treasure-house  of  their 
ashes!"  Lingering  alone  by  the  "wishing  well,"  flitting 
in  light  and  shade  down  "Lady  Mary's  Walk,"  study 
ing  the  faintly  legible  inscription  on  old  brasses  or 
smooth  worn  slabs  in  the  stately  burial  chapel  of  the 
Beaufords — the  romance  of  the  old  entered  her  very 
soul.  Generous,  warm  and  true  to  her  higher  womanly 
instincts,  she  was  happy  in  the  union  of  Lord  Alfred 
and  the  exquisite  Lady  Isabel.  "There  is  a  blessing 
of  the  olden  days  hallowing  them,  and  it  is  fitting  and 
meet  they  should  walk  together  in  happy  love,  side  by 
side,  where  they  parted  in  the  old  days."  A  sudden 
yearning  for  her  own  home  possessed  Evelyn  Hartley. 
"Here,"  she  mused,  "I  am  out  of  place.  It  is  not  in 
the  externals — it  is  in  the  invisible  moving  spirit  of 
the  home  surroundings  that  the  American  woman  is 
a  stranger  in  these  feudal  surroundings,  as  well  as 
in  the  maze  of  the  gradations  of  rank  and  custom  in 
the  English  social  life. 


THE   ANARCHIST  361 

"Cucullus  non  facit  monachum,"  thought  Evelyn, 
as  she  voiced  in  her  own  heart,  the  truth  that  a  cour-1 
tesy  title  could  not  put  an  English  heart  into  an  Amer 
ican  body!  That  the  subtle  influences  of  birth,  blood, 
home,  the  natural  surroundings  of  childhood,  and  the 
social  sympathies  of  the  heart,  were  real  and  moving 
forces  was  proven  in  the  tide  of  rushing  feeling  which 
turned  her  eyes  toward  her  home  in  the  west!  Even 
in  the  wild  storms  of  winter,  when  the  lake  was 
lashed  to  fury  and  the  wintry  blast  whistled  shrill 
from  the  pathless  Canadian  woods  of  the  old  voyageurs, 
Evelyn  Hartley  had  loved  her  birthplace.  On  the 
green  lawns  of  Jervaux  she  saw  again  her  stately 
home,  on  the  cliffs  of  Cleveland,  and  the  mist  veiling  her 
tender  eyes  was  born  of  love  for  the  silent  man  who 
could  not  welcome  the  darling  of  his  heart  home  again. 
The  sudden  wish  to  be  again  a  real  factor  in  a  life 
she  was  born  to,  to  take  her  part  as  woman  and  friend 
in  the  onward  movement  of  the  great,  busy,  toiling 
city  by  the  lake,  possessed  her,  and  she  was  glad 
to  return  and  be  the  thing  she  was,  than  to  linger,  even 
in  the  graceful  half-shadow  of  exotic  society,  and  seem 
the  thing  she  was  not. 

The  triumphal  entry  of  Lord  and  Lady  Beauford  to 
the  brief  enjoyment  of  their  home-kingdom,  and  the 
bright  days  of  joyous  revel  chased  away  from  Evelyn 
Hartley's  mind  all  thought  of  the  peril  she  had 
escaped  in  the  averted  foreign  alliance." 

It  is  only  right  that  I  should  tell  you,"  said  Lord 
Beauford,  as  they  walked,  alone,  the  terrace  at  Jervaux, 
"that  I  am  informed  by  the  Embassy  that  Count  Obor- 
ski  has  undoubtedly  fled  to  America.  I  mention  this 
that  you  should  be  on  your  guard.  Though,"  he  said, 
smilingly,  "I  shall  feel  secure  as  long  as  you  have 
your  'Brother  Philip'  to  guard  you!" 


362  THE    ANARCHIST 

Something  in  the  diplomat's  tone  touched  her  heart. 
In  the  fullness  and  sweetness  of  the  happiness  which 
fate  had  brought  to  them,  Beauford  and  Lady  Isabel 
spoke  often  of  Evelyn's  strange  unconsciousness. 
"Can  it  be  that  she  cannot  recognize  the  devotion  of 
such  a  man!"  said  the  now  experienced  Benedick. 
"Think  of  the  years,  the  long,  sad  years,  that  fate  and 
pride  held  us  apart!"  whispered  glowing  Lady  Isabel. 
"After  all,  Alfred,  how  little  of  our  lives  we  live  our 
selves!  It  needs  the  stroke  of  fate,  the  electric  touch 
of  sudden  feeling — the  chastening  of  sorrow,  or  some 
overmastering  direction,  to  show  us  where  the  heart 
has  always  been!"  Beauford  gazed  tenderly  at  her. 

"I  think,  I  feel,  in  some  way,  I  cannot  explain,  that 
all  will  be  well!"  said  Isabel  Beauford. 

"You  are  a  kindly  and  a  loving  prophet,  Isabel!" 
said  Beauford.  "Let  us  hope  that  your  prophecy  will 
be  verified. " 

So  after  the  brief  days  of  rest  under  the  old  roof- 
trees  of  home,  Lord  and  Lady  Beauford  went  out 
upon  the  great  deep  to  seek  Ormuz  and  the  farther  In 
dia,  he  to  uphold  England's  might,  and  the  happiest  of 
wives  to  throw  the  witchery  of  nerlove  around  him,  in 
the  far  land  of  the  Lion  and  the  Sun!  The  honors 
accorded  at  court  and  the  Foreign  Office  to  the  min 
ister,  and  the  stately  farewell  festivities  of  Admiral 
Walton,  were  the  finale  of  the  English  visit.  Evelyn 
Hartley  was  not  ignorant  of  Beauford's  gratitude.  For 
ere  he  left  his  home  he  spoke  words  to  her  under  the 
great  oaks  of  Jervaux  that  tinged  her  cheeks  with 
blushes,  and  brought  a  proud  and  happy  light  to  her 
eyes.  "I  can  never  feel  you  alien  in  blood  or  foreign 
in  heart  as  long  as  I  draw  breath.  I  owe  to  your  noble 
kindness  the  privilege  of  breathing  the  air  of  my  old 


THE    ANARCHIST  363 

woods.  In  our  far-away  Persian  home,  we  shall  have 
you  always  with  us  in  heart.  You  will  come  again  to  us. 
Ventnor  Hall  is  always  open  to  you.  Admiral  Walton 
has  promised  to  be  honorary  seneschal,  if  he  survives 
the  loss  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger.  But  come  to  us,  and  to 
Jervaux,  wherein  the  old  garden, — where  I  can  yet  see 
my  gentle  mother,  in  fond  memory, — the  very  roses  will 
nod  their  thanks  and  hail  you  sister.  Dear  Evelyn, 
while  we  live,  you  have  an  English  home  in  loving 
English  hearts!" 

Admiral  Horatio  Walton  was  disconsolate  when  let 
ters  from  Judge  Fox  and  Philip  Maitland  called  Miss 
Hartley  home  in  the  early  weeks  of  autumn.  No 
recount  of  unvisited  continental  attractions  could  tempt 
Evelyn  to  recross  the  Channel.  The  alarming  out 
breaks  in  Spain,  the  growing  danger  to  the  general 
public  from  brutal  violence,  the  sound  of  anarchistic 
outrage  frightening  even  the  boldest,  warned  her  home 
ward.  Mutterings  and  discontent  were  everywhere. 
Blood  of  the  innocent  stained  the  pavements  of  Paris, 
the  very  hall  of  the  People's  Chosen  in  Paris  rang  to 
the  sound  of  the  coward's  bomb.  Wild  bandits  of 
Sicily  chanted  "la  Ravachole,"  the  hideous  war  song  of 
the  dynamiter,  Switzerland  was  in  upheaval,  and  rest 
less  Germany  was  torn  with  the  secret  agitations  of  the 
propaganda  of  Destruction,  now  showing  the  ghostly 
footprints  of  that  curse  of  humanity,  Michael  Bakunin! 
The  capitals  of  the  continent  were  searched  to  the  last 
corner  of  every  slum  for  the  anarchist  nests,  labora 
tories  and  refuges.  Crowds  of  suspects,  uneasy  human 
vampires,  were  driven  from  the  continent  to  London's 
human  waste,  and  rigorously  hunted  back  again!  In 
all  the  growing  darkness-— while  cloud  after  cloud  rolled 
over  social  Europe-— Evelyn  Hartley  hesitated  not  to 
seek  her  home. 


364  THE   ANARCHIST 

The  letter  of  Maitland,  calling  for  her,  bade  her  bring 
resolute  and  reliable  attendants,  and  to  use  extreme 
care.  "The  Barcelona  outrage,  the  madness  of  Rava- 
chol,  Vaillant  and  Emil  Henry,  the  various  frustrated 
humble  plots  show  us  that  wealth  has  no  safeguard, 
rank  no  protection ;  that  innocence  and  benevolent 
sympathy  count  for  naught  with  the  mad  apostles  of 
Destruction.  It  is  known,"  wrote  Maitland,  "that 
scores  of  desperate  anarchists  have  been  driven  to  us 
by  the  now  vigorous  concerted  action  of  European  gov 
ernments.  We  have  only  our  active  police  of  Chicago 
and  New  York,  who  have  faced  these  scoundrels  to 
teach  them  a  lesson.  The  lawless  riots  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  Pittsburg,  Cincinnati,  New  Orleans  and  Home 
stead  show  that  extremest  violence  may  soon  appear 
among  us.  There  is  a  bitter  and  a  trying  winter 
before  us  !  The  fatal  weakness  of  pardoning  the  three 
Chicago  anarchists  by  a  too  tender-hearted  governor  of 
Illinois,  has  given  crime  that  impetus  which  left  mur 
dered  Mayor  Harrison,  the  ruler  of  the  great  city  of 
the  West,  weltering  in  his  blood  in  his  own  home! 

"The  three  anarchists  turned  loose  had  barely  escaped 
the  gallows  and  richly  merited  internment  for  many 
years.  The  open  attempt  at  murder  of  arch-millionaire 
H.  C.  Frick,  as  a  mere  representative  of  capital,  was  a 
precedent  and  a  prophecy.  Whatever  means  the  logician 
may  take  to  intellectually  combat  anarchy  as  an  abstract 
science,  here  in  your  old  home,  as  in  other  awakened 
cities,  the  undismayed  citizens  of  the  useful  classes  are 
beginning  to  strongly  organize  to  fight  as  a  body  mil 
itant!  The  struggle  will  be  blown  from  Europe  to  our 
shores!  The  vilest  poison  is  working  in  our  midst, 
now!  Tihe  supreme  object  of  anarchism  is  to  embroil 
the  great  American  labor-classes,  the  skilled  as  well  as 


THE   ANARCHIST  365 

unskilled  and  crush  all  the  higher  classes  by  a  revolt, 
a  revolution,  an  uprising  which  will  set  back  American 
civilization  fifty  years!  But  before  the  red  flag  shall 
wave  in  victory,  the  rifle  blasts  shall  scourge  the  foul 
mobs  of  terrorists  with  an  awful  vengeance  of  the  men 
who  stand  by  home!.  The  mask  is  off!  So,  come  to 
us.  Come  home.  And  help  with  your  presence,  your 
sanction,  your  property  contributions  and  your  aid  in 
works  of  goodness,  tenderness  and  sisterly  feeling. 
Wealth  never  stoops  when  it  lifts  up  the  lowly  and 
suffering.  It  honors  its  very  essence! 

"Evelyn,  "concluded  Maitland,"The  American  women 
of  to-day  have  as  much  at  stake  in  the  anarchistic 
issue  as  the  men.  They  must  in  every  way  defend  the 
family  tie  and  home.  Sustained  in  the  fight  against 
anarchy's  terrors,  and  all  corruption  by  our  women, 
the  right  will  prevail!  There  can  be  no  higher  stand 
ard  in  a  community  than  the  hearts,  lives,  thoughts  and 
code  of  its  best  women!" 

It  was  almost  in  a  dream  that  Evleyn  Hartley,  richer 
in  beauty,  riper  in  type  of  womanhood,  and  with  her 
noble  heart  unfolding  like  a  flower  from  its  virginal  bud 
and  blossom,  crossed  once  more  the  threshold  of  her 
great  palace  on  the  heights  of  Cleveland. 

Standing  on  the  great  veranda,  gazing  over  the  con 
centrated  material  wealth,  the  accumulation  of  fifty 
years  of  prosperity,  with  Philip  Maitland  at  her  side, 
the  richest  heiress  of  Cleveland,  in  listening  to  his 
secret  foreboding  of  coming  disaster,for  a  terrible  winter 
approached,  trembled  at  the  bitterness  of  the  strug 
gle,  the  vastness  of  the  stakes  in  the  dreadful  game  to 
open!  Her  mind  was  at  peace.  The  joyous  acclaim 
of  friends  cheered  her.  Judge  Wilkinson  Fox,  courtly, 
prudent,  and  able,  was  at  her  side.  Her  great  inher- 


366  THE  ANARCHIST 

itance  was  untouched  by  disaster.  Her  noble  and  prac 
tical  mind  caught  the  needed  spirit  of  the  hour,  a  spirit 
of  tenderness  for  the  honest  poor,  the  worthy  and  deserv 
ing.  "When  you  are  more  experienced,"  said  Judge 
Fox,  as  he  listened  to  her  lofty  plans  and  purposes, 
"you  can  show  yourself  a  noble  daughter  of  an  honored 
father.  In  giving  away  half  your  great  wealth,  you  can 
be  twice  as  happy!  Not  spasmodically,  not  with  sud 
den  fancy  to  guide,  but  in  a  broad  continuous  general 
plan  to  help,  lift,  aid  and  better  all  those  around  you! 
This  and  only  this  generally  adopted  all  over  our  land 
— a  live  moral  effort  to  raise,  and  purify,  and  better, 
political,  moral  and  social  life,  will  prevent  a  sudden, 
vicious  and  widely  spread  attack  on  wealth  as  an 
unprotected  element!" 

As  the  winter  approached,  the  rising  storm  became 
louder,  for  the  stress  of  the  human  toilers  became  more 
bitter.  The  voice  of  discontent  was  everywhere,  and 
lurking  behind  the  bulwarks  of  free  speech,  the  spies 
and  priests  of  anarchy  trod  the  land  from  end  to  end. 
The  weak  temporized,  the  vain  politician  trimmed  his 
sails,  the  journals  catered  to  the  sensations,  and  the 
public  mind  became  accustomed  to  the  repeated  bloody 
outrages  of  European  capitals.  A  vague  and  dark  honor, 
a  cloud  of  suspicion,  a  pall  of  fear  hung  over  the  whole 
land.  As  in  all  cowardly  and  merciless  enemies,  the 
malefactors  seemed  always  to  have  the  best  of  it.  It 
was  in  the  cold,  icy  days  of  this  sad  December,  that 
the  whole  civilized  world  seemed  to  have  positivly 
accepted  the  new  order  of  things,  that  personal  repri 
sal,  class  punishment,  blood)'  official  revenge,  or  a  great 
holocaust  as  an  exhibition  of  the  cruel  power  of  anar 
chism  might  be  looked  for  at  any  time.  Philip  Maitland, 
now  Colonel  of  a  local  regiment,  each  evening  com-. 


THE   ANARCHIST  367 

mimed  with  Miss  Hartley,  whose  splendid  mansion  was 
a  congenial  meeting-place  for  the  higher  citizens.  The 
young  colonel  often  mused  upon  the  strange  and  head 
long  crime  of  the  once  magnificent  Count  Stanislas 
Oborski.  From  advices  from  Admiral  Walton,  and 
researches  in  Vienna,  it  was  ascertained  that  Count 
Oborski's  name  was  veiled  in  forgetfulness.  His  estates 
in  Galicia  were  under  crown  charge,  and  his  pict 
uresque  old  castle  of  Jordanov,  was  guarded  by  a  few 
faithful  old  domestics,  using  it  as  a  refuge.  "Thank 
heaven,"  mused  Maitland,  "that  the  scoundrel  has 
ceased  to  follow  up  Evelyn." 

In  the  serious  preoccupations  of  this  memorable 
winter,  Philip  grew  daily  nearer  to  the  noble  woman 
who  was  the  star  of  her  native  city.  And  yet,  in  her 
charities,  his  committee  work  and  guard  duty,  they 
never  paused  to  think  how  their  lives  had  insensibly 
run  together.  It  was  "Philip"  and  "Evelyn"  now  in 
their  address,  and  a  growing  confidence  led  them  closer, 
heart  to  heart.  It  was  with  a  strange  suspicion  that 
Philip  galloped  up  Euclid  avenue  one  bitter  night,  and 
leaving  his  orderly  in  charge  of  his  horse,  hastily 
sought  Miss  Hartley,  who  waited  him  in  the  library. 

Her  eyes  read  the  secret  of  serious  apprehension. 
Springing  forward,  she  clasped  his  strong  right  arm  in 
her  nervous  hands.  "There  is  no  immediate  danger, 
Philip?  Tell  me  all!"  A  loving  woman's  tenderness 
thrilled  in  each  word! 

"You  are  safe,  Evelyn!"  the  anxious  colonel  replied, 
"I  have  a  dozen  picked  men  posted  in  your  grounds, 
and  your  alarm  wire  and  telephone  would  bring  a  bat 
talion  in  ten  minutes.  But  I  am  astounded!  There 
is  to  be  an  immense  mass-meeting  near  the  rolling- 
mills  to-night!  We  have  obtained  secret  hand-bills  in 


368  THE   ANARCHIST 

German,  Slavic,  Russian  and  Polish.  Our  executive 
committee  have  twelve-hour  reports  from  the  principal 
manufacturing  cities.  It  seems  there  is  a  threatened 
upheaval,  a  general  collision  feared  all  over  the  middle 
and  east.  Our  wisest  heads  are  astounded!  The  trades 
and  labor-unions  of  the  land,  handled  by  the  Irish- 
Americans  are  reasonably  quiet !  Say  what  you  will  of 
the  Irish,  they  are  not  anarchistic!  Sixty  per  cent  of 
our  arrests  or  suspects  are  Germans,  Slavs  and  Poles; 
and  the  balance  French,  Italians  and  Spaniards.  Now, 
who  will  address  them  to-night,  think  you?" 

Evelyn's  eyes  were  strangely  eager. 

"Professor  Carl  Stein,  and  a  speech  in  Bohemian 
will  follow  from  Ernest  Rheingold,  now  a  bond-slave 
of  Stein's!  I  am  ordered  to  take  ten  resolute  men  in 
plain  clothes,  and  mingle  with  the  crowd.  The  com 
mittee's  forces  are  marshalled  ready  to  move,  in  any 
direction  if  an  attempt  should  follow  on  the  great  fac 
tories!" 

Maitland  gazed  in  the  beautiful  eyes  of  his  adopted 
sister ! 

"When  I  am  at  fault,  I  seek  wisdom  in  your  woman 
wit!  Read  me  the  riddle  of  the  connection  of  such  a 
man  with  this  scum!" 

"Philip,  seven  out  of  ten  of  the  late  anarchistic  'mar 
tyrs'  have  been  men  of  superior  education!"  replied 
Evelyn,  "but  I  will  tell  you  a  strange  feeling  that  has 
clung  to  me  lately.  The  sudden  appearances  and  dis 
appearances  of  Stein,  his  strange  travels,  his  fevered 
activity, and  his  fruitless  mysterious  studies,  have  thrown 
a  light  on  him !  Has  he  not  been  for  years  a  daring 
plotter,  a  hypocrite!  Is  not  this  Rheingold  an  -accom 
plice!  Remember  I  warned  you  against  Stein!  It  is 
he  who  has  woven  a  web  around  our  family!  It  is  he 


THE    ANARCHIST  369 

who  tried  to  ruin  my  life!  Do  you  not  remember  it 
was  Stein  who  brought  into  our  family  the  man  who 
married  my  mother?  That  he  threw  that  dark  fiend, 
Oborski,  across  my  path!"  Philip  started  as  the  agi 
tated  woman  spoke  the  hated  name.  "Are  they  mem 
bers  of  a  great  band?"  continued  Evelyn.  "These  men 
met  at  Lausanne!  It  was  their  haunt!  The  great 
anarchist  nest  there  has  just  been  broken  up!  I  feel  as 
if  a  plot  were  laid  against  me — that  some  day  I  shall 
see  the  face  of  the  desperate  wretch  who  cried  to  mur 
der  Beauford!" 

With  a  feeling  of  singular  unrest,  Maitland  sought  to 
cheer  his  dearest  counselor.  "These  scenes  are  too 
exciting  for  you.  I  apprehend  no  specific  outbreak 
to-night, but  I  shall  think  of  you  !  The  street  is  patrolled. 
You  have  your  private  watchman,  your  burglar  alarm. 
I  shall  entreat  you  on  the  first  sign  of  active  disorder 
to  go  south  for  a  run.  Say  to  Florida!  There  will 
never  be  anarchists  in  the  old  rebel  states.  I  begin  to  see 
their  unwritten  community  laws  are  wiser  than  ours! 
I  will  watch  over  you!  I  will  ride  past  to-night!  Can 
it  be  that  all  these  scoundrels  were  part  of  an  extended 
conspiracy!  Stein  is  no  fool!  When  he  openly 
addresses  the  malcontents,  he  forfeits  the  regard  of  his 
old  circle.  He  does  nothing  without  a  reason  !  Can 
it  be  that  the  times  are  ripe?  Stem  an  anarchist?  But 
one  thing  strikes  me  badly  in  his  past  record.  He  never 
made  friendly  ties,  and  always  lived  alone! 

"You  may  be  deceived  here,  Evelyn,  but  you  have 
been  right  since  you  returned,  in  every  judgment.  If 
there  is  an  overt  demonstration  to-night,  if  there  is  a  red 
flag  thrown  to  the  breeze,  it  may  end  in  trouble,  but 
Carl  Stein  will  be  chased  out  of  Cleveland  forever! 
Under  our  system  he  will  be  blacklisted  in  other  cities, 
and  have  to  slink  back  to  Europe. " 


370  THE   ANARCHIST 

With  tender  solicitude,  Philip  Maitland  calmed  Eve 
lyn's  fears.  The  little  hands  resting  in  his  were  cold 
as  ice,  and  he  could  read  in  her  eyes  a  haunting  fear. 
"I  shall  pass  by  to-night,"  he  repeated,  as  he  kissed 
her  hands  and  rode  down  to  the  place  of  popular 
assembly. 

A  half  mile  away,  he  turned  in  his  saddle  to  watch 
the  lights  gleaming-in  her  splendid  house  on  the  heights. 
It  was  the  most  notable  palace  on  the  avenue.  As  he 
did,  a  sudden  thought  set  every  nerve  tingling. 

"By  heavens!  She  fears  Oborski's  presence,  already 
suspected!  She  fears  a  mad  vengeance!  If  there  is 
a  secret  connection,  if  an  outbreak  occurs,  it  would  be 
a  time  for  reprisal!  I  must  watch  over  her!  If  I  live 
till  to-morrow,  Evelyn  shall  go  South!  I  will  induce 
Judge  Fox  to  have  his  people  take  her  down  to  Florida. 
She  does  not  wisli  to  be  the  first  to  go  !  But  if  they 
invite  her,  she  will  be  safe,  she  can  recover  her  shaken 
nerves,  and  this  thing  we  face,  must  come  to  a  head 
sooner  or  later!  But  it  is  nonsense.  Oborski  is  thous 
ands  of  miles  away!"  And  yet  it  was  with  an  uneasy 
feeling  at  heart,  he  met  the  chief  of  Police  as  he 
neared  the  meeting  place. 

For  a  moment  he  forgot  even  Evelyn  Hartley  as  the 
chief,  who  awaited  him  in  grave  concern,  said,  "Colonel 
Maitland,  the  executive  committee  have  just  sent  me 
a  special  report  on  this  man  Stein.  It  appears  he  has 
been  masquerading  for  two  years  as  a  literary  traveler, 
and,  under,  various  names  has  addressed  the  disaffected 
all  over  America.  He  is  a  perfect  linguist  and  is  now 
believed  to  be  one  of  the  highest  order  of  these  red 
conspirators.  From  various  Chiefs  of  Police  we  find  that 
he  has  been  unusually  active,  and  also,  strange  to  say, 
very  well  supplied  with  money.  He  has  had  several 


THE   ANARCHIST  371 

followers  and  associates,  nearly  all  foreigners.  This 
man  Rheingold,  used  to  be  a  physician  here.  Now, 
my  orders  are  to  try  and  get  this  man  in  the  clear  reach 
of  the  law  for  a  six  months'  sentence! 

If  they  raise  any  red  flag  here,  I  have  two  hundred 
men  scattered  in  the  crowd  and  the  same  number  in 
reserve.  We  will  tear  up  their  red  flags,  give  the  law 
breakers  a  good  clubbing,  and  arrest  Mr.  Stein  and  his 
body  guard.  We  will  then  run  him  out  of  town  after  his 
brief  imprisonment.  All  I  wish  you  to  do  is  to  follow  this 
crowd,  with  your  scattered  men.  We  will  break  it  and 
pursue  it.  If  there  is  violent  resistance,  telephone 
your  men  in  at  once.  You  know  the  secret  place  in 
the  ward  where  we  have  private  wires.'  The  chief, 
who  had  two  good  revolvers  belted  on,  knotted  his 
heavy  baton  on  his  wrist  and  disappeared  to  face  a 
hydra-headed  mob  with  professional  coolness. 

Colonel  Philip  Maitland  was  busy  in  receiving  and 
transmitting  secert  orders,  and  handling  his  skeleton 
detail>  until  the  cries  borne  on  the  wind,  the  glare  of 
bonfires,  the  streaming  in  of  thousands  of  dark,  stolid 
men  to  the  central  nucleus  of  the  "grand  stand"  told 
of  the  culminating  hour.  Followed  by  one  trusty  man, 
Maitland  worked  his  way  into  the  seething  mass.  A 
slouch  hat  and  heavy  loose  coat  disguised  him,  and  a 
good  service  revolver,  and  a  blackjack  were  handily 
within  his  reach.  By  dint  of  a  half  hour's  struggle, 
Maitland,  using  his  broad  shoulders,  unceremoniously 
forced  himself  to  a  post  twenty  yards  from  the  stand. 
There,  bare-headed,  his  voice  ringing  out  in  wild  ten 
sion,  stood  Carl  Stein,  the  mask  thrown  off,  urging  the 
chaotic  mass  to  strike  for  their  rights  !  The  yells  and 
cheers  drowned  the  speaker's  voice. 

In  the  rising  tumult  of  loosened  fury,  all  plans  were 


372  THE   ANARCHIST 

cast  to  the  winds.  Hoarse  roars  and  gusts  of  feeling 
swayed  the  great  throng.  It  was  the  drunkenness  of 
incipient  revolt.  Already  in  the  skirts  of  the  crowd,  a 
fringe  of  unclean  human  spectres,  the  advance  guard 
of  the  human  "looters"  of  the  homes  at  their  mercy, 
gathered  and  waited  for  the  rush.  Borne  away  by  his 
exaltation,  Carl  Stein  suddenly  threw  out  the  crimson 
folds  of  a  great  red  flag,  and  waving  it,  cried,  "I  give 
you  here  the  banner  of  the  future!"  There  was  the 
silence  of  a  moment,  and  then  a  terrific  shout  broke 
on  the  night  air! 

The  enormous  gathering  heaved  and  moved  in  several 
wild  rushes.  "To  the  mills."  "Clean  out  the  avenue." 
"Burn  the  'Union  Depot!'"  were  discordant  war  cries 
of  the  incoherent  factions  dashing  forth  under  seeming 
leadership. 

While  Maitland  madly  dashed  through  side  streets 
to  gain  his  horse  and  send  his  messengers  for  the  wait 
ing  divisions  of  his  regiment,  the  night  air  resounded 
with  screams  of  pain  and  curses. 

"  The  police  are  already  at  them,"  cried  Maitland,  as  his 
horse  sprang  forward.  And  as  he  neared  his  rendez 
vous,  the  solid  platoons  of  the  police  reserves  were 
closing  in  to  smite  and  break  up  the  sullen  knots  of 
fugitives,  vainly  trying  to  make  a  stand. 

When  Colonel  Maitland  headed  a  battalion  of  his 
regiment  to  sweep  the  square,  twenty  minutes  later, 
there  was  nothing  left  but  the  fragments  of  the  destroyed 
grand  stand,  broken  lamps,  shattered  transparencies, 
and  hats  and  coats  cast  away  in  flight ! 

The  anxious  hour  was  over!  The  intended  coup 
was  a  failure,  for  the  fragments  of  the  red  flags  (art 
fully  provided)  lay  in  the  gutters.  The  jails  were 
swarming  with  squads  of  the  arrested  and  the  flight  of 
the  mob  was  as  rapid  as  its  gathering ! 


THE    ANARCHIST  373 

"All  over,  Colonel, "  cried  the  Chief  of  Police  heartily, 
as  he  rode  up.  "This  quarter  of  the  town  is  clear. 
They  telephone  me  to  call  in  my  men,  leaving  only  a 
double  reserve!  Will  you  ride  back  to  headquarters 
with  me?" 

"And  Stein,  the  mad  fool?"  demanded  Maitland. 

"Spirited  away!  We  lost  him.  He  got  out  of  our 
lines!  He  must  have  had  a  waiting  confederate,  but," 
the  chief  laughed,  "he  will  never  be  seen  in  Cleveland 
again!  His  day  is  done!  It  was  a  mad  attempt  to 
unfurl  that  flag !" 

As  they  rode  along  it  was  through  silent  streets. 
Maitland's  junior  was  marching  the  regiment  to  its 
barracks.  With  surprise  the  young  colonel  noted  the 
deserted  streets.  "Is  it  so  late,  Chief?"  he  asked,  for 
he  had  not  marked  the  flight  of  time. 

"After  one  o'clock,"  curtly  said  the  Chief  of  Police, 
"and  all  honest  folk  should  be  abed.  You  can  go  home 
with  no  delay.  I  will  not  sleep  till  morn!"  The  chief 
was  astonished  as  Philip  spurred  his  horse  and  wav- 
ing  his  hand  disappeared  at  a  smart  gallop.  For  when 
the  answer  fell  on  his  ear,  "after  one  o'clock,"  a  sud 
den  fear  seized  him.  "I  told  the  special  guard  to  leave 
at  twelve,  and  Evelyn  is  alone!  Stein  fleeing — desper 
ate!  If  Oborski — "  the  young  rider  clenched  his  teeth 
for  it  was  in  the  gruesome  hours  of  a  darkish  night,  and 
the  Hartley  residence  was  cut  off  in  its  "lordly  pleas- 
aunce. " 

"She  shall  not  be  unguarded  a  moment  until  she 
leaves  Cleveland,  and  that  will  be  to-morrow,"  thought 
the  anxious  man.  The  skilful  escape  of  Stein,  Evelyn's 
brooding  fears,  and  the  relaxation  of  his  overstrained 
nerves  oppressed  him  with  a  sense  of  some  imminent 
peril  hanging  over  that  beloved  head. 


374  THE    ANARCHIST 

"Bah,  I  will  not  be  foolish!  This  is  a  boy's  fright 
in  the  woods!  But  I  will  find  the  old  watchman  on 
his  rounds,  or  in  the  carriage-house  and  tell  him  I  will 
send  a  couple  of  good  policemen  up  to  watch  till  morn 
ing.  Then  Evelyn  shall  go  away!  Her  name  has  been 
foremost.  She  has  too  much  local  prominence  to  escape 
malevolence." 

The  tired  horse  splashed  through  the  soft  snow  and 
Maitland  sprang  off,  throw'ing  the  rein  over  a  post.  A 
glance  at  the  great  mansion  showed  that  all  was  quiet, 
and,  half-ashamed  of  his  fears,  the  young  man  moved 
cautiously  down  the  great  walk,  and  eagerly  peering 
into  the  semi-darkness,  for  if  the  watchman  were  on 
duty,  he  might  meet  him  at  any  time.  As  he  passed 
down  in  front  of  the  library  veranda,  his  beating  heart 
was  stilled  as  he  fondly  thought,  "All  is  peace. 
Heaven's  blessing  is  with  her  as  she  sleeps."  A  noise 
within  the  house  attracted  his  attention.  A  heavy,  dull 
noise  as  of  a  falling  piece  of  heavy  furniture.  And  a 
moment  later  a  woman's  scream  was  distinctly  audible. 
In  the  olden  days,  as  a  boy,  Maitland  had  known  every 
nook  of  the  great  mansion.  He  had  lately  looked  it 
over.  With  one  spring  he  reached  the  library  windows. 
Springing  back  he  bounded  forward  with  his  shoulder 
as  a  battering  ram,  and  through  the  crash  of  French 
blinds  and  the  window  plates  gained  entrance  to  the 
library.  Another  scream  rang  out,  as  from  the  higher 
story,  the  voice  of  the  woman  he  sought  was  raised  in 
wild  appeal!  Up  the  broad  stair  he  sprang,  like  a  tiger 
in  its  charge,  with  one  shout  of  encouragement.  A 
faint  light  burned  on  the  landing,  and  as  he  cast  his 
eyes  toward  the  hall-opening  of  the  heiress'  rooms,  a 
dark  form  rushed  toward  him.  Maitland  fired  point 
blank,  and,  with  quick  practice,  pullea  the  trigger 


THE    ANARCHIST  375 

again.  When  the  butler  and  footman  rushed  down 
from  the  servants'  distant  lodgment,  followed  by  the 
boldest  of  the  maids,  now  frantic  in  panic,  they  saw 
Philip  Maitland  standing  sternly,  pistol  yet  in  hand, 
by  the  still  writhing  body  of  the  wounded  burglar! 
A  heavy  knife  lay  on  the  floor  where  Maitland  had 
kicked  it  away,  and  fallen  across  her  own  threshold, 
in  a  death-like  trance,  Evelyn  Hartley  was  uncon 
scious  of  her  rescue. 

While  the  women  bore  Miss  Hartley  to  her  sleeping- 
room,  the  lights  revealed  the  death  of  the  would-be 
murderer.  It  was  no  thief  of  vulgar  grade!  A  black 
loose  cloth  mask  still  covered  the  dead  man's  face. 
"Take  it  off!"  said  Philip.  The  excited  servants  gazed 
at  each  other,  as  Maitland,  stooping  over  the  dead 
marauder  sternly  tore  off  the  covering.  He  dropped 
the  cloth  with  a  cry,  almost  a  yell! 

For  the  Count  Stanislas  Oborski  had  kept  his  oath! 
He  was  "face  to  face  with  the  American  in  his  own 
country!" 

There,  in  the  "sudden  taking  off"  of  a  midnight 
malefactor,  lay  the  missing  man,  of  whose  fate  the 
baffled  police  of  Vienna  had  no  trace. 

"Here,  Johnson!"  said  Maitland,  noticing  the  second 
groom  in  the  throng,  "You'll  find  my  horse  at  the  gate. 
Gallop  down  to  the  police-office  and  tell  the  chief  for 
me  there  has  been  a  crime  here,  and  a  burglar  killed 
by  me.  Ask  him  to  send  four  good  men  rattling  up 
here  in  a  carriage  to  watch  this  house  till  morning!" 

"7  will  watch  it  myself  after  this!  said  Philip  Mait 
land,  grimly. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  this?"  the  frightened  but 
ler  whispered,  pointing  to  the  stiffening  corpse. 

"Let  it  lay  till  the  police  come!"  said  Maitland,  gaz 
ing  at  the  distorted  face  of  his  deadly  fo.e. 


376  THE   ANARCHIST 

He  turned  away  and  beckoning  the  butler,  said 
sharply,  "Take  a  man  and  search  this  house  from  top 
to  bottom.  Report  to  me.  Now,  Wilson,"  he  signed 
to  the  coachman,  "Step  over  to  Judge  Fox's  residence 
and  tell  the  judge  what  has  happened.  Say  that  I 
want  him  kindly  to  come  here  at  nine  o'clock  to-mor 
row.  I  will  wait  for  him  here." 

After  the  men  had  departed,  Philip  burned  to  speak 
but  one  word  to  Evelyn  Hartley.  The  women  servants 
had  clustered  in  her  rooms  for  protection  but  when 
Philip  Maitland's  foot  crossed  the  threshold,  there  was 
only  the  aged  housekeeper  seated  at  the  table.  The 
room  was  tenantless  but  as  he  turned  his  head,  a  voice 
which  thrilled  his  very  heart  said  "Philip."  There 
was  a  moment's  pause,  and  it  was  on  his  breast,  her 
heart  throbbing  with  the  bliss  of  a  revelation,  Evelyn 
heard  his  reply!  "Sleep  now!  my  own  darling,  for 
your  life  is  mine  henceforth!  1  will  watch  here  till 
the  day. " 

"And  he?"  she  whispered  as  she  clung  to  the  strong 
man  who  was  "Brother  Philip"  no  more. 

Maitland's  motion  of  the  hand  told  her  all,  and  he 
turned  and  kissed  her  trembling  lips!  "Never  to  be 
parted  any  more,  my  Evelyn!"  he  vowed,  and  left  her 
to  dream  of  what  strange  fates  had  led  her  to  find  the 
golden  key  of  her  heart. 

"It  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  said  the 
chief,  as  Maitland  sat  with  him  an  hour  later  in  the 
library.  "This  man  is  unknown  here.  Though  he  has 
a  sailor  garb,  his  whole  appearance  is  of  refinement. 
The  pistol,  knife  and  chloroform  indicate  the  criminal. 
There  were  others  with  him.  We  found  several  arti 
cles  they  had  dropped.  A  strange  Canadian  cutter, 
has  been  seen  off  the  shore  to-night,  and  my  police 


THE    ANARCHIST  377 

* 

fired  on  a  boat  with  six  men  thinking  them  harbor 
thieves.  It  looks  like  a  kidnaping  scheme!  Do  you 
know  this  man?"  The  gray-eyed  chief  suddenly  faced 
Philip. 

11  /  never  saw  him* in  my  life!"  he  steadily  replied, 
thinking  of  the  dear  one,  her  head  pillowed  in  happy 
rest,  whom  he  would  shield. 

"It  is  strange!"  mused  the  chief.  "By  the  way,  you 
need  not  come  down  to-morrow.  I  will  have  the 
inquest  deferred  till  I  can  find  out  who  this  man  may 
be!  They  will  make  a  general  examination  by  noon." 

"That  is  very  acceptable,  Chief,"  said  Maitland,  as 
the  overtaxed  official  rose  to  depart,  having  personally 
posted  the  guards,  "for  /  shall  be  very  much  busied 
to-morrow!" 

"Any  new  orders  from  the  committee?"  said  the  offi 
cial.  "I  wonder  if  Stein  got  away  on  that  yacht!" 

"/  am  going  to  be  married  to-morrow  at  noon!" 
remarked  Colonel  Philip  Maitland.  "I  will  be  happy  to 
have  you  call  in  the  evening  and  test  the  regulation 
cake  and  wine!"  The  chief  wrung  the  young  leader's 
hands  and  was  far  on  his  way  to  headquarters  before 
he  reflected  that  he  had  not  even  asked  the  name  of 
the  bride! 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  right,  but  it  was  very  impolite 
in  me,"  mused  the  victorious  chief,  as  he  noted  tha 
arrivals  of  the  last  straggling  squads  of  pursuers.  "I 
believe  Mr.  Philip  Maitland  knows  more  than  he  wishes 
to  tell.  Did  this  swell  burglar  think  to  carry  Miss 
Hartley  off?  Was  it  a  scheme  for  ransom?  or  some 
plot  of  this  Stein  gang!"  The  puzzled  policeman  lit 
a  soothing  cigar.  "I  will  wait  events.  Miss  Hartley's 
name  must  not  be  dragged  in !  D — n  these  foreigners 
anyway!  They  give  us  seventy  per  cent  of  our  unnec- 


378  THE    ANARCHIST 

essary  work.   I  must  keep  this  quiet  till  after  the  mar 
riage!" 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  disorder  in  the  Hartley 
mansion  next  morning  as  Mr.  Philip  Maitland  stood 
gazing  from  the  crystal  window  of  the  breakfast-room 
at  nine  o'clock.  He  had  already  received  in  his  mail, 
a  report  from  his  junior  on  duty,  and  the  news  in  the 
journals  of  the  complete  practical  victory  of  the  police^ 
and  the  flight  of  orator  Stein.  The  German  professor 
was  thought  to  be  unsettled  in  his  mind,  by  some  of 
the  writers  who  knew  of  his  once  proud  standing.  To 
Maitland's  astonishment,  there  was  not  a  word  in  the 
papers  referring  to  the  attempt  on  Miss  Hartley's 
house  or  person. 

The  silver  chimes  of  nine  startled  Philip,  who  won 
dered  if  the  woman,  who  now  knew  his  unselfish  and 
devoted  love,  would  appear  to  meet  Judge  Wilkinson 
Fox.  Evelyn  had  made  no  sign.  But  when  the  agi 
tated  old  counselor  was  ushered  into  the  room,  Miss 
Hartley's  light  foot  sounded  on  the  stair!  Her  sweet 
confession  of  how  long  she  had  imposed  her  every 
service,  unpaid,  on  the  man  whose  glowing  eyes  wel 
comed  her,  was  deferred,  for  she  placed  her  hands 
silently  in  Philip's. 

"Will  you  be  seated  a  moment,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
whose  formality  astounded  her  visitor.  "You  are  my 
trustee,  Judge  Fox,  and  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  very 
important  question!"  She  was  smiling  through  her 
tears  now! 

Wilkinson  Fox  seated  himself  without  a  word  at  the 
table,  set  for  three  by  some  strange  accident. 

"I  am  ready,  at  your  service,  Miss  Hartley,"  he 
said  with  a  glance  at  Philip,  who  was  lost  in  wonder. 

"Is  there  any  legal   objection  to    my  being    married 


THE   ANARCHIST  379 

to-day?"  the  heiress  said,  as  her  eyes  dropped  and  the 
rose-flush  sought  her  cheeks. 

"At  noon,  precisely,"  remarked  Mr.  Philip  Maitland 
in  addition. 

"Not  the  slightest,"  said  the  startled  lawyer.  Eve 
lyn  rose  and  clasped  Philip's  hand  as  he  sprang 
up.  "On  the  contrary,  I  will  give  my  official  consent, 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  bring  Mrs.  Fox  here  with  the 
minister,  and  let  her  hear  Philip  promise  to  be  my 
partner  for  life  as  well  as  yours!" 

"I  agree !"  said  the  lover.  "Evelyn  is  worthy  of  even 
that  sacrifice  1" 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   REPRESENTATIVE   OF  THE  PEOPLE — THE  ADMIRAL'S      SUM 
MONS — ANARCHY'S    MISSING    LEADER — A     STRANGER    AT 

JORDANOV MELCHIOR   LAYS     A     SNARE — BY     THE     BANKS 

OF  THE   ARVA ON   THE   LAWN  AT  VENTNOR  HALL 

IT  was  several  months  after  the  wintry  cyclone  of 
riot,  and  covert  anarchism,  had  swept  in  fitful  gusts  over 
America,  before  the  "beautiful  Mrs.  Maitland,"  as 
society  termed  her,  found  words  to  speak  of  the  events 
of  the  night  when  she  found  out  the  secret  charm 
unlocking  her  prisoned  heart! 

The  Hartley  trust  was  in    fact  a  thing    of  the  past! 

A  death  in  life  left  a  vacancy  in  the  three,  for  Mrs. 
Rheingold's  place  had  not  been  filled.  Admiral  Wal 
ton  could  not  act  for  himself,  and  with  consent  of  the 
courts,  on  the  representations  of  satisfaction  by  the 
two  interests.  Wilkinson  Fox,  having  turned  over  his 
active  law  practice  to  his  new  partner  and  his  veteran 


380  THE   ANARCHIST 

assistant,  was  the  virtual  king  of  Cleveland.  But 
behind  him  was  a  gracious  hidden  influence  which 
softened  his  rigid  dealings. 

"I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world,  Queen  Eve 
lyn, "  the  counselor  often  said.  "Fate's  decrees  have 
been  kind  to  us  all!  Your  father's  trust  has  been 
fullfilled  in  spirit  and  in  law.  We  often  spoke  of  Philip 
in  the  by-gone  years.  He  is  here  to  guard  you,  to  aid 
you  in  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  your  noble  father. 
No  plan,  hedged  round  with  the  law's  intricacies  could 
have  placed  Maitland  where  he  is  to-day !  As  I  grow 
older  I  trust  more  to  that  Providence  which  overlooks 
us  all.  I  cling  daily  more  and  more  to  faith.  But  I 
fear  only  your  open  hand.  I  wish  to  live  to  hand  over 
to  you  intact,  the  Hartley  trust-funds,  and  to  see 
whether  your  course  of  intelligent  benevolence  will 
lead  others  upward!" 

"It  is  better  to  fail  nobly  in  a  gospel  of  love  than 
to  rule  by  the  iron  haud  of  greed  and  fear,"  said  bright- 
eyed  Evelyn.  "I  have  a  wise  adviser  here!"  She 
glanced  with  pride  at  Maitland. 

"Never  doubt  me,"  said  Philip.  "Only  let  the  head 
and  heart  go  together!  There  is  a  science  of  the  care 
of  property,  of  the  rightful  handling  of  wealth,  and  its 
regular  harvests  are  better  than  a  Nile  flood  of  emo 
tional  benevolence.  To  plant  the  right,  to  uproot  the 
wrong,  needs  care  and  personal  wisdom.  It  will  not 
meet  the  call  of  this  divine  better  feeling  to  merely  leave 
a  field  here  and  there  for  the  gleaners.  The  grandest 
title  of  the  Pope  is  'Servant  of  Servants!'  To  feel  that 
the  Hartley  trust  sustains  and  cheers  those,  without 
the  law,  who  look  to  it,  is  to  nobly  follow  out  the 
Golden  Rule!" 

When  Evelyn  Maitland  learned  all    the    details    of 


THE    ANARCHIST  381 

her  husband's  private  researches,  she  was  thankful 
that  the  public  naturally  looked  at  the  attempted 
crime  as  a  bold  attack  on  the  jewels  or  funds  supposed 
always  to  be  in  her  possession.  In  the  inquest,  Philip 
Maitland  had  been  spared  awkward  questions,  and  the 
quondam  General  Stanislas  Oborski  slept  in  an 
unknown  grave! 

The  police  gradually  ferreted  out  the  hidden  his 
tory  of  Stein's  nefarious  occupations.  In  several  places 
in  the  United  States,  uprisings  or  brutal  outrages 
had  marked  -the  long  and  unhappy  winter.  Knots  of 
five  or  six  desperate  alien  anarchists,  were  found  to  be 
the  pivots  of  all  dangerous  attempt.  It  was  these 
picket  posts  of  the  red  propaganda  which  the  German 
schemer  had  planted  with  the  funds  derived  from 
Rheingold's  scheming  marriage,  and  each  little  band 
became  the  centre  of  a  mad  conspiracy.  The  photo 
graphs  of  Oborski,  sent  from  place  to  place,  in  the 
comity  of  local  officials,  were  returned  with  sketches 
of  his  active  participation  in  a  number  of  daring  out 
rages. 

The  mystery  of  his  movements  on  the  night  of  the 
tumult  was  impenetrable.  But  Maitland,  as  well  as 
Judge  Fox,  believed  that  he  had  obtained  an  accurate 
description  of  the  interior  of  the  Hartley  mansion  from 
Stein  and  Rheingold,  and,  with  characteristic  Polish 
madness,  designed  to  stupify,  the  heiress  with  chloro 
form,  and  while  one  or  two  of  his  band  guarded  the 
frightened  servants,  hurry  her  to  the  boat  and  bear 
her  away  on  the  cutter  to  the  Canadian  shore. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  seriously  punish  Ernest 
Rheingold,  who  slunk  away  from  Cleveland,  to  reappear 
as  a  quack  doctor  of  pretension  in  one  of  the  mush 
room  cities  of  the  far  West.  Relieved  from  his  fear 


THE  ANARCHIST 

of  Stein  he  was  harmless,  as  he  lacked  a  brain  to  plan 
and  nerve  to  execute  deeds  of  daring. 

As  the  autumn  approached  the  general  American 
situation  had  bettered,  for  even  the  conspirators  be 
gan  to  see  that  anarchy  offered  no  charms  to  women. 
There  seemed  to  be  in  America,  as  in  Europe,  no  dis 
tinct  class  of  women  deriving  benefits  or  greater  priv 
ileges  from  the  new  creed  of  human  rights.  From 
queen  to  peasant,  every  high  and  holy  aspiration  of 
womanhood  clings  to  a  home,  present  and  prospective! 
Leaving  out  the  dreams  of  ambitious  women,  the 
schemes  of  the  unworthy  sisters,  (happy  after  all,  a 
mere  minority, )  womanhood's  dream  is  to  rule  a  home, 
to  contribute  to  its  stability  and  embellishment.  The 
doctrine  of  anarchy,  however  specious!}7  gilded,  sweeps 
away  the  family  tie,  destroys  the  home,  tears  down 
the  altars  of  religion,  and  leaves  woman  a  lonely  hu 
man  atom  in  the  mad  whirl  of  that  new  higher  life! 

"You  are  right,  Evelyn,"  said  Maitland,  as  his  spir 
ited  wife  spoke  of  this  fatal  defect  in  the  New  Dis 
pensation.  "No  woman  is  at  heart  a  communist!  What 
ever  be  a  woman's  life,  whether  she  basks  in  pleas 
ures,  walks  Ihe  stern  path  of  duty,  or  climbs  the  hill 
of  ambition,  her  very  nature  is  imbued  with  individual- 
ism,  and  the  highest  expression  of  her  very  heart  and 
soul  is  in  the  love  which  clings  around  a  home,  where 
in  she  is  the  central  figure!" 

Evelyn  Maitland's  happy  eyes  shone  on  her  husband 
in  assent,  as  he  quoted  her  father's  words:  "Love  is 
the  higher  law.  Love  alone  can  lead! 

"I  have  no  further  fear  for  our  own  land,  now  that 
public  opinion  is  aroused  to  the  workings  of  the 
remarkable  social  system  which  destroys,  to  produce 
equality,  and  proves  after  cowardly  bloodshed,  to  be 


THE  ANARCHIST  383 

only  a  system  of  more  or  less  infamous  class  reprisals! 
In  the  reduction  of  all  existing  systems,and  differences, 
to  a  dark  plane  of  nothingness,  even  the  ablest  heir  of 
Bakunin  cannot  clearly  point  out  what  he  proposes  to 
build  up. 

1  Unless  a  healthful  individualism  is  allowed  a  safe 
guarantee  and  protection,  the  human  race  would  des 
cend  to  a  horde  of  cave-dwellers,  crouching,  in  fear, 
in  the  night  of  newer  'Dark  Ages.'  It  seems  that  the 
Anglo-Saxon  strain  of  blood  rises  superior  to  the  fal 
lacy  easier  than  the  continental  races!  England  drift 
ing  boldly  along,  in  sullen  inertia,  like  one  of  its  own 
huge  battle  ships  forging  ahead  in  a  foggy  sea,  runs 
down  the  mad  pirates,  trying  to  board  her,  and  never 
changes  a  point  in  her  course!" 

Admiral  Horatio  Walton  was  unceasing  in  his  efforts 
to  induce  the  Maitlands  to  visit  England.  In  his 
letters,  he  boasted  of  the  immunity  of  Great  Britain 
from  the  ferocious  assaults  which  continued  to  shock 
and  alarm  the  continent.  He  held  out  as  a  tempting 
bait  the  return  in  the  spring  of  Lord  and  Lady  Beau- 
ford.  "There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  come," 
he  wrote,  "America  has  awakened  at  last.  You  have 
a  welcome  awaiting  you  which  is  one  of  heartiest  Eng 
lish  cheer.  It  may  be  the  last  time  I  shall  see  the 
hawthorn  in  bloom,  and  Jervaux  Priory,  as  well  as  Vent- 
nor,  will  be  thrown  open  to  the  friends  of  that  won 
derfully  lucky  and  able  fellow,  Beauford.  He  is  talked 
of  for  a  dignity  which  will  surprise  even  his  most  san 
guine  friends! 

"By  the  way,  1  note  that  artful  rascal,  Stein,  has  been 
just  chased  out  of  Switzerland.  He  was  discovered 
lurking  at  Lausanne  where  an  anarchist  club  and  secret 
press  was  raided.  He  is  supposed  to  be  lurking  in 


384  THE    ANARCHIST 

Bohemia.  His  pen  has  been  the  main  stay  of  the  secret 
press,  and  I  am  told  he  has  largely  directed  the 
obstructionist  sympathizers  in  the  Reichstag.  But  he  is 
now  a  proscribed  man,  and  a  wanderer.  There  is  no 
fear  of  his  daring  to  come  to  England  under  our  new 
system.  I  presume  he  will  end  his  days  in  some  con 
tinental  dungeon.  But  you  must  come  to  us,  and  I 
send  you  letters  from  the  Beaufords.  They  feel  every 
day,  more  and  more,  what  they  owe  to  Evelyn." 

"Shall  we  go,  Philip?"  questioned  the  glowing 
beauty,  whose  mind  was  shaded  with  thoughts  of  the 
past.  "There  is  no  danger  now!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  danger!"  answered  Maitland,  smiling. 
"I  do  not  fear  the  whole  peerage  for  Miss  Hart 'ley 's 
money  is  no  longer,  in  the  continental  eye,  an  object 
of  schemers!" 

"Philip,"  said  his  wife,  thoughtfully,  "I  could  never 
have  realized  the  web  woven  around  a  young,  lonely 
woman,  unless  that  madman's  folly  had  left  him  open 
to  detection.  I  wonder  how  many  young  women  of 
fortune  realize  the  intrigue  which  follows  up  every 
movement  of  their  lives." 

"Few  do!"   said  Maitland,  "and  these  hidden  social 
campaigns  will  be  planned    and  often    succeed,  until, 
with    a    gradual    emergence  'from    feudal  'legal    inca 
pacity'  women  have  the  experience  which  the  practical 
management  of  their  own  affairs  will  give." 

Maitland  was  glad  to  visit  England,  especially  in 
view  of  important  affairs  of  the  estate,  for  with  sin- 
uglar  persistence  Admiral  Walton  urged  the  transfer 
of  the  mortgages  upon  Jervaux  to  his  account. 

"We  will  go!"  said  Philip,  decisively,  after  a  con 
ference  with  Judge  Fox.  "The  time  of  the  settlement 
of  the  trust  approaches,  and  he  is  an  old  man,  and  the 
last  of  your  family." 


THE  ANARCHIST  385 

"It  will  not  interfere  with  your  congressional  duties," 
said  the  lovely  young  matron,  for  Maitland  had 
received  a  nomination  to  Congress.  In  his  particular 
case,  it  was  equivalent  to  an  election,  as  he  was 
pledged  to  a  remodelling  of  the  naturalization  laws, 
the  establishment  of  a  proper  passport  system,  and 
the  enactment  of  federal  regulations  with  regard  to 
the  unrestricted  sale  and  handling  of  high  explosives. 

The  temper  of  the  American  people,  had  been  sorely 
tried.  As  Judge  Fox  quaintly  said:  "We  have  reached 
a  period  when  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  de 
mand  something  from  the  Federal  government.  Train 
robberies,  tumults  menacing  citizens  of  different  states 
peacefully  traveling,  the  past  operations  of  the  James 
boys,  the  Younger  brothers,  and  their  humble  imita 
tors,  unrepressed  lynch  law  in  the  South,  the  western 
traffic  in  Chinese  slaves,  gigantic  opium  smuggling, 
the  easy  ingress  and  egress  of  Europe's  now  danger 
ous  ambulatory  criminals,  the  hasty  manufacture  of  a 
foreign  vote,  the  filling  of  our  land  with  the  diseased 
paupers  of  the  old  world — these,  and  a  few  current 
happening  will  enable  you  to  find  out  why  government 
does  not  always  govern!" 

All  this  was  in  Maitland1  s  mind  as  he  said  to  Eve 
lyn,  "You  shall  have  your  Washington  winter,  if  the 
sovereign  electors  favor  me,  for  I  will  not  go  abroad 
until  the  session  closes.  If  I  can  do  anything  to  pre 
serve  and  hand  down  the  heritage  of  our  fathers,  if  I 
can  aid  in  extending  the  privileges  and  lightening  the 
burdens  of  useful  citizenship,  if  I  can  see  an  effective 
safeguard  against  vicious  foreign  interference  placed 
at  our  portals,  I  will  have  filled  the  measure  of  my 
ambition.  But  one  thing  I  regret  in  entering  Congress, it 
is  to  see  so  few  men  in  the  Lower  House  represent- 


386  THE    ANARCHIST 

ing  the  skilled  workers  of  our  land.  The  law,capital,  the 
farming,  mining  and  even  manufacturing  and  trading 
classes  are  adequately  represented,  but  there  seems  to 
be  a  dearth  of  recognition  of  the  millions  of  wage- 
workers.  The  skilled  artisan  rising  above  labor,  and, 
though  often  gifted  and  worthy,  stopping  short  of  the 
station  of  employer  seems  to  have  no  weight  in  our 
national  counsels." 

"From  what  I  have  seen,  Philip,  is  it  not  because 
they  expend  so  much  of  their  energies  in  the  organ 
izations  of  trade  guilds  and  more  or  less  suspected 
unions,  that  they  are  not  fairly  represented  there?" 
remarked  his  wife,  as  she  reflected  on  the  thousands 
of  really  unrepresented  skilled  workmen  of  Cleveland. 
"They  are  left  between  the  superior  members  of  the 
lower  class  of  voters,  and  the  influence  of  the  capitalist 
and  employer,  with  no  real  class  consideration.  The 
unskilled  laborers  out-number  them,  the  rich  distrust 
them  by  reason  of  the  secrecy  of  their  peculiar  asso 
ciations!" 

"You  are  right,"  said  Maitland,  "and  yet  I  would 
like  to  see  a  score  of  representative  men  in  the  House 
of  Representatives  of  that  class.  We  seem  to  jump 
from  the  rich  man  to  the  larmer  with  an  unexplained 
hiatus.  England  has  such  men  in  the  House  of  Com 
mons.  France  in  the  Corps  Legislatif,  and  Germany 
in  the  Reichstag,  and  right  good  service  they  have 
done  at  times.  At  least,  these  aspiring  classes  can 
not  complain,  in  those  lands,  that  they  are  without 
voice  \ 

"For  my  part,  when  I  meet  my  colleagues,  the  man 
who  strives  for  a  better,  broader,  purer  national  life 
is  my  brother,  regardless  of  party  lines  which  are  of 
use  in  special  agreed-on  lines  of  policy  only.  To  make 


THE    ANARCHIST  387 

the  useful  in  every  class  of  citizens,  our  constituency, 
and  to  check  imported  vice  and  disorder,  is  the  first 
duty. 

"As  for  national  repression  of  the  red  propaganda, 
I  would  like  to  know  by  what  divine  or  human  right, 
any  dissatisfied  theorist  would  tear  down  the  social 
system  of  to-day,  levy  forced  contribution  and  con 
demning  classes  and  individuals  unheard,  and  appoint 
individual  executioners  to  carry  out  the  dark  ven 
geance  of  an  infernal  Hate! 

"The  seed  of  anarchy  carries  its  own  death  within 
its  kernels,  and  even  in  a  land  which  has  good 
humoredly  tolerated  every  species  of  religious  or  com 
munity  folly,  it  must  meet,  it  shall  meet,  that  stern 
repression  of  the  law  which  indicates  the  survival  of 
the  fittest! 

"We  are  not  ready  yet  to  commit  national  suicide  or 
to  be  destroyed  in  a  general  suttee!" 

It  was  after  an  exciting  session  of  Congress  that  the 
newly-made  statesman  sailed  for  England.  Some  of 
his  hopes  were  now  accomplished  facts,  other  aspira 
tions  struggled  in  the  womb  of  Time,  but  the  face  of 
the  civilized  world  was  sternly  set  against  the  mouthed 
madness  of  the  anarchists.  They  no  longer  plotted  in 
peace,  their  vicarious  emissaries  were  hunted  to  bay, 
and  the  violent  attempts  at  cowardly  assassination  were 
smartly  and  summarily  punished.  The  sober  majority 
of  the  world  had  awakened  to  the  instant  application 
of  the  God-given  right  of  self-defense!  "Do  you  wish 
to  go  on  the  continent,  Evelyn?"  Philip  asked  as  he 
watched  the  sun  sink  in  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  gazed 
at  the  happy  woman  clinging  to  his  arm. 

"Never!  until  I  know  that  Stein  is—  no  longer  there!" 
replied  his  wife,  with  a  slight  trembling  of  her  clasp 
ing  hands. 


388  THE    ANARCHIST 

And  Maitland  knew  that  even  long  months  of  quiet 
had  not  effaced  the  sudden  horror  of  that  night,  when 
waking  from  a  sleep,  troubled  by  the  anxiety  of  the 
hour,  she  had  seen  the  masked  marauder  almost  at 
her  side. 

"His  untiring  hatred  and  daring  villainy  might  lead 
fo  other  hidden  dangers!  No!  Let  us  remain  in  Eng 
land.  You  know  I  have  a  sister's  right  at  Jervaux. " 

"You  also  had  a  l  Brother  Philip*  once,"  laughed 
Maitland.  "I  might  never  have  known  your  hidden 
love  for  me  if  I  had  not  been  led  to  your  lonely  home 
that  winter  midnight." 

"Had you  no  suspicion  to  guide?"  said  Evelyn,  with 
interest. 

"Nothing!"  replied  her  husband,  "but  a  feeling  at 
my  heart  that  my  horse  could  not  bear  me  swiftly 
enough  to  the  rescue.  And  the  strangest  thing  is,  that 
1  was  led  on  by  a  mysterious  power.  I  had  really  no 
settled  plan  of  action.  It  was  only  a  masterly  call  of 
the  spirit  to  go  to  your  rescue!  I  never  even  saw 
Oborski's  face  till  the  mask  was  off,  but  I  fired  as  at 
a  mad  wolf!" 

"There  is  such  a  strange  dual  faculty  of  the  human 
intellect  as  telepathy,  I  believe  in  my  heart,"  softly 
said  Evelyn.  "Finer  faculties,  greater  gifts,  senses  yet 
undeveloped  may  come  to  us  in  that  gradual  improve 
ment  which,  after  all  these  sharp  reactions,  seems  to 
be  influencing  the  world." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  as  to  the  telepathy,"  said  Mait 
land,  with  careful  skepticism,  "but  of  one  thing  I  am 
assured!  //  is  that  without  love,  life  is  not  worth  the 
living!" 

There  was  no  disagreement  between  them  as  they 
left  the  wheeling  sea  gulls  to  their  airy  flight, and  went 


THE    ANARCHIST  389 

below  to  ponder  over  the  details  of  Admiral  Walton's 
festivities  on  the  return  of  the  laureled  Beauford. 

For  Walton,  superbly  splendid  with  that  wealth 
which  had  softened  his  heart  toward  the  Yankees,  was 
a  very  Fadladeen  as  a  master  of  etiquette,  and  had 
read  up  his  Lalla  Rookh  to  appropriately  welcome  the 
returning  "fire  worshippers"  with  Persian  display. 

The  cup  of  Admiral  Walton's  happiness  was  run 
ning  over  when  he  welcomed  his  stately  ward  at  Vent- 
nor  Hall.  One  glance  told  him  that  Evelyn  had 
quaffed  from  the  magic  fountain!  That  in  her  fitting 
union  with  her  ardent  husband,  she  had  found  the 
highest  earthly  good.  There  was  a  romantic  tenderness 
in  the  wedding  tour  of  the  happy  Americans.  They 
were  "looking  backward"  and  many  scenes  of  their 
European  life  took  on  new  lights  in  view  of  their 
discoveries  at  Cleveland. 

By  dint  of  the  admiral's  daily  over-reaching  influ 
ence,  Evelyn  Maitland  was  the  temporary  chatelaine  of 
Ventnor  Hall.  Greetings  were  exchanged  with  Lord 
and  Lady  Beauford  who  were  returning  via  Constanti 
nople  and  Vienna. 

"I  presume  Beauford  will  bring  us  any  later  news 
of  The  Lost  Leader,'  that  unruly  human  intellect, 
'Stein.'  I  have  privately  warned  him  of  the  character 
of  all  those  affiliations  and- he  will  be  wary.  The  more 
so  as  I  hear  Earl  Weathersford  will  retire  with  signal 
marks  of  Her  Majesty's  favor,  and  that  Beauford  is 
very  likely  to  be  named  at  Vienna." 

"It  is  a  singularly  rapid  promotion,  is  it  not?"  said 
Maitland. 

"Ah!  my  dear  boy,  all  is  for  the  best  in  this  world, 
if  we  only  trust  to  time!  While  Isabel  could  not  bring 
him  money,  she  has  brought  him  the  interest  of  her 


390  THE    ANARCHIST 

uncle  who  is  in  Her  Majesty's  government.  It  is  as 
easy  to  write  'Vienna'  as  'Copenhagen'  and  I  believe  his 
lucky  star  is  in  the  ascendant!  Now,  Maitland,"  said 
the  old  sailor,  as  they  walked  under  the  oaks,  from 
whence  both  Ventnor  and  Jervau«  Priory  were  visible, 
"It  had  been  a  dream  of  my  life  to  see  these  historic 
estates  united.  I  fancied  that  with  Evelyn's  money 
Beauford  could  buy  Ventnor  Hall.  But  Dan  Cupid 
has  tied  the  two  estates  together  with  golden  chains! 

"Now,  I  am  growing  old.  I  naturally  have  no  right 
to  all  of  Caroline's  money.  It  was  half  English,  half 
American.  Transfer  that  mortgage  on  Jervaux  Priory 
to  my  interest  and  let  me  leave  it  to  the  little  Persian 
lad,  who  is  named  Horatio  Walton  in  my  honor!  It 
is  the  whim  of  an  old  and  childless  man!  To  Evelyn 
returns  all  the  rest,  which,  by  the  folly  of  her  mother 
might  have  gone  to  the  adventurer.  I  wish  my  gift, 
inter  vivos,  -to  be  that  settlement  on  the  little  heir  of 
the  Beaufords!  I  would  like  to  see  an  old  sailor's 
wishes  carried  out  in  his  life-time.  I  have  no  love 
for  the  lawyers!  They  are  human  sharks!" 

Maitland  smilingly  assented,  and  with  the  aid  of 
Judge  Fox's  agent,  Admiral  Walton-  was  enabled  to 
announce  his  splendid  endowment  when  Lord  Beau- 
ford,  with  his  lovely  wife  and  a  picturesque  retinue  of 
Asiatic  incapables,  arrived  to  show  an  admiring  ten 
antry  the  most  fortunate  infant  in  Yorkshire! 

In  the  first  interval  of  the  rejoicings  which  stirred 
the  local  British  heart,  on  the  return  of  the  diplomat 
Maitland  eagerly  begged  details  of  the  Vienna  situa 
tion.  "It  is  believed,"  said  Beauford,  as  they  sat 
alone,  "that  Oborski's  servant  secured,  by  his  order,  all 
his  jewels,  plate  and  private  papers.  The  town  house 
and  Jordanov  estate,  will  go  to  a  distant  heir,  but  a 


THE    ANARCHIST  391 

flood  of  pressing  claims,  and  many  obligations  await 
the  legal  proof  of  Oborski's  death.  From  what  you 
tell  me,  I  apprehend  it  will  be  years  before  a  final 
settlement  is  made.  No  one  knows  in  Vienna  that  the 
dashing  count  died  by  your  hand.  The  secret  shall 
be  locked  in  my  bosom.  I  imagine  that  this  scoundrel 
valet  joined  his  master  in  America,  and  when  Stein  is 
run  to  earth,  this  fellow  Fritz  will  be  not  far  oft!  Stein 
is  now  proscribed  in  the  various  continental  countries 
of  importance.  He  is  doomed  either  to  fret  out  his  life 
in  foreign  exile,  or  fall  into  the  meshes  of  the  law! 
His  complicity  in  the  Lausanne  incendiary  agitation 
has  closed  his  open  career!  I  would  not  advise  you 
to  take  Evelyn  abroad!  There  is  no  telling  what 
moment  the  desperate  villain  may  appear!  He  could 
easily  work  his  revenge  through  others,  for  he  is  high 
in  the  order.  I  will  hear  of  his  appearance,  for  I  have 
made  special  request  of  our  secret  agents  to  locate 
him.  The  Viennese  authorities  want  the  valet,  but 
he  is  unlikely  to  risk  his  safety." 

"Beauford, "  said  Maitland,  gravely  to  his  friend. 
"Let  us  never  bring  up  these  characters  to  poison  the 
present  happiness  of  the  two  women  who  knew  them. 
Let  us  seal  that  past!" 

And  in  the  golden  prime  of  life,  with  honor,  wealth, 
and  youth  to  bless  them,  the  friends,  reunited  in  hap 
piness,  banished  the  dark  shadows  of  the  anarchist 
from  the  sunlight  of  their  happiest  days. 

It  was  on  an  exquisite  summer  evening,  while  the 
revels  still  made  Ventnor  Hall,  a  picture  of  English 
hospitality,  that  a  band  of  gypsies  made  merry  in  their 
green-wood  camp  in  far  Galicia,  by  the  swift  rushing 
Arva.  The  romantic  river  glen,  with  its  sighing  pines 
and  larches,  was  a  fitting  retreat  for  the  score  of  swarthy 


3Q2  THE    ANARCHIST 

Romanies  whose  tents  and  dancing  camp-fire  accentu 
ated  the  foreground.  Beyond  the  stream,  perched  on 
a  beetling  cliff,  the  old  castle  of  Jordanov  frowned 
against  the  sunset  skies.  It  was  the  home  of  the 
missing  Count  Stanislas  Oborski,  and  it  was  here  that, 
with  his  brigade  of  matchless  horse,  he  once  held  the 
main  defile  of  the  Carpathians,  now  tipped  with  a 
ruddy  sunset  glow  far  in  the  south.  In  this  defile  of 
the  Arva,  a  resolute  battalion  might  withstand  a  divi 
sion  of  the  gray-coated  Russian  invaders! 

In  picturesque  confusion,  the  men  and  boys  lolled  at 
ease,  while  the  women,  from  childhood  to  wrinkled 
age,  with  one  exception,  toiled  for  their  masters.  In 
haughty  indifference,  wrapped  in  costly  shawls,  and 
her  hands  flashing  with  gems,  the  magpie  spoil  of  her 
lover,  Etelka  leaned  against  a  mossy  rock,  and  listened 
to  the  pleadings  of  Melchior. 

The  chief  was  thin  and  stern  of  face  as  if  some  over 
mastering  passion  burned  within  his  fiery  soul. 

"I  will  delay  no  longer!  There  are  no  tidings  of  him 
here;  he  will  never  return!"  cried  Melchior.  "It  is  a 
year,  and  he  has  made  no  sign  !  Remember  your  prom 
ise!11 

"  When  his  head  lies  low,  and  not  before!  I  gave  my 
word!  You  have  it  yet!  Is  he  dead?  Where  is  his 
grave!  Then,  if  he  laughs  no  longer  at  my  misery,  I 
am  yours.  But  if  on  the  earth,  you  must  find  him  and 
kill  him,  before  I  am  your  bride !  Remember  your 
oath!" 

"Have  I  not  tried  all!  The  men  I  sent  as  spies  were 
flung  from  the  gates!"  growled  the  baffled  suitor.  He 
would  not  sue  at  the  feet  of  this  haughty  one  were  she 
not  the  daughter  of  a  queen!  And  well  the  Romany 
knew  of  the  dark  charms  and  weird  mysteries  imparted 
by  fierce  Queen  Esther  to  her  wayward  child! 


THE   ANARCHIST  393 

"The  servant  has  been  seen  hovering  near  here!  He 
is  concealed  in  that  castle  now!  Wait  but  a  moon  more 
and  then  I  will  ask  you  to  watch  the  castle  nc  more. 
I  might  go  up  myself!" 

"Never!"  cried  Melchior,  for  dark  stories  were  told 
by  the  frightened  peasants  of  lawless  Jordanov's  wild 
woodsmen! 

"I  will  wait!  I  will  do  your  bidding  till  then!  If 
he  comes  not  you  are  mine!  I  will  work  your  will  for 
one  more  moon!" 

She  laid  her  brown  hand  in  his  palm  and  the  en 
chantress  smiled! 

Melchior  watched  her  throw  herself  down,  tiger-like, 
on  a  great  fur  robe,  and  gaze  into  the  fire,  leaping  in 
red  tongues  up,  under  the  forest  arches.  With  a  mut 
tered  oath,  he  seized  his  staff,  and  followed  by  a  little 
band,  set  out  to  picket  the  one  winding  road  leading  to 
the  Jordanov  crag. 

In  storm  and  dark  night  for  seventeen  days,  the 
velvet-eyed  gypsies  crouched  behind  the  crags  from 
dusk  till  dawn.  Their  camp  was  hidden  by  a  huge 
bend  of  the  river  bank,  and  from  either  flank  they 
could  reach  the  single  trail  unseen. 

In  the  lonely  Carpathian  forest  there  were  none  to 
dispute  the  green-wood  with  the  brown  men!  From 
the  richness  of  forest  fruits,  and  game,  they  derived 
an  easy  support. 

Etelka  sprang  wildly  to  her  feet,  roused  from  vain 
dreams,  when  in  the  gray  of  a  later  dawn  she  knew 
that  the  trap  had  been  sprung! 

"Come!"  said  Melchior,  "you  shall  know  all!  I  have 
a  prisoner  here  from  whom  we  will  force  the  truth." 
By  the  blaze  of  a  torch,  the  gypsy  girl,  panting  for 
vengeance,  bounded  forward  as  she  saw  by  the  flicker 
ing  light  the  face  of  Oborski's  valet.  Fritz  was  bound. 


394  THE    ANARCHIST 

and  at  his  side  stood  a  burly  Romany,  knife  in  hand. 
Etelka's  eyes  shone  in  the  light  like  a  crouching  pan 
ther.  She  rapidly  gave  Melchior  his  orders  in  the 
weird  tongue  of  the  Children  of  Mystery.  With  her 
hands  supporting  her  swaying  hips,  she  bent  toward 
him,  for  he  had  sunk  down  in  fatigue.  n  The  truth, 
quick,  or  it  will  be  cut  out  of  your  lying  heart!  Where 
is  Oborski?"  The  prisoner  gazed  at  Melchior,  whose 
right  hand  gripped  his  knife-hilt. 

"Dead — in  America,  the  far  land  beyond  the  sea!' 

"And  whom  led  you  here  to  the  castle?"  Her  voice 
was  ominous. 

"Stein,  his  friend — you  know  the  man!"  The  pris 
oner  groaned  and  his  voice  faltered. 

"What  does  he  there?  The  truth!  Quick!"  Mel 
chior' s  knife  glittered  in  the  air! 

"He  came  to  remove  the  jewels  and  treasure  which 
I  bore  away  from  Vienna.  Oborski  told  him  alone  its 
hiding-place!  He  has  it  now.  I  was  to  spy  the  road 
and  send  him  a  signal  by  a  peasant  who  comes  to  the 
river  at  daybreak.  It  is  a  token  he* gave  me!" 

"And  then?"  Etelka  began  to  see  the  anarchists 
inmost  design. 

"I  was  to  have  my  share  and  the  peasant  would 
guide  him  out  by  one  road  while  I  was  free  to  go  in 
peace." 

"Listen,  you  dog!"  hissed  Etelka,  "You  shall  bring 
him  to  us !  You  shall  have  your  share,  and  we — shall 
have  ours!" 

In  the  early  sunlight  of  a  golden  morning,  the  pris 
oner  stood  at  the  ford  of  the  Arva  and  by  his  side  in 
a  cloak  muffling  his  face,  Melchior,  with  eager  eye, 
watched  the  delivery  of  a  packet  to  the  stolid  mes 
senger  who  was  in  waiting.  The  boor  leaped  from 


THE    ANARCHIST  395 

rock  to  rock  and  waded  the  riffles  of  the  icy  Arva. 
When  he  was  lost  to  sight,  Melchior  led  the  shivering 
valet  back  to  the  dense  coppice,  where  a  half  dozen 
armed  followers  were  a  sinister  body-guard  of  Etelka, 
now  robed  in  her  quaintest  garb  of  gypsy  wealth. 

"I  do  not  fear  your  lying!  /  hold  your  life  here/" 
The  knife  was  flashing  at  his  throat.  "When  comes 
he?" 

"At  noon,"   the  trembling  prisoner  faltered. 

"Then  do  you  show  yourself  here,  and  motion  him 
over.  My  men  will  have  crossed,  behind  him  but  you 
shall  beckon  him  here!  You  stand  within  instant 
range  of  a  dozen  guns.  If  you  have  told  the  truth  you 
shall  have  your  share,  if  not,  the  raven  fattens  on 
your  flesh!" 

In  wait,  like  the  crouching  man-eater  of  the  jungle, 
the  gypsies  lay  as  the  sun  slowly  crawled  to  high 
noon.  On  the  prisoner's  face  an  awful  agony  worked, 
a  sudden  convulsion  as,  when  the  sun  lit  up  the  deep 
est  pools  of  the  flashing  stream,  the  peasant,  leading 
a  heavily  laden  mule,  slowly  descended  the  crags.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  glen  a  white  kerchief  fluttered 
from  a  clump  of  bushes  as  the  ambush  closed  in 
behind  Stein,  who  walked  with  the  springy  stride  of 
health  and  vigor.  Etelka,  with  cruel  eyes  fixed  on 
the  trembling  servant,  whose  face  was  ashen,  said, 
"Now!  dog!  remember!"  And  as  Stein  boldly  essayed 
the  crossing,  the  valet,  with  unbound  arms  advanced, 
pushed  by  the  muzzles  of  four  guns.  His  knees  were 
loosely  bound. 

When  the  burly  form  of  the  German  was  within  ten 
yards,  a  man  trode  out  from  the  greenwood  twenty 
yards  away.  Stein  cried  quickly,  "Who  ts—"  The 
sentence  never  was  finished,  for  Melchior,  bounding 


THE   ANARCHIST 

from  behind  a  rock,  buried  his  deadly  blade  to  the  hilt 
in  the  back  of  the  anarchist! 

"Traitor!"  he  gasped  as  his  head  fell  back.  Two 
men  were  already  at  the  head  of  the  mule,  and  the 
frightened  peasant  staid  not  to  look  behind  as  he 
plunged  into  the  forest. 

Tossed  in  a  rushing  whirlpool  of  the  Arva,  the  man 
gled  corpse  of  the  murdered  anarchist  drifted  on  to  be 
borne  into  the  rush  of  the  Vistula  flowing  toward  the 
frozen  Baltic,  and  while  the  hideous  thing  that  was  a 
man  was  swept  away,  the  turbulent  soul  of  Carl  Stein 
fled — whither?  Beyond  all  mortal  ken! 

"Take  evenly  of  the  spoil,"  said  Melchior,  as  the 
safe  retreat  of  the  camp  was  reached.  "You  may  make 
such  bundle  as  you  wish.  Tremble  not !  You  know  now 
one  dark  secret  of  the  Zingari!  You  will  be  led  to  a 
place  whence  you  can  gain  a  village!  Silence  and 
secrecy  is  yours  for  life!  Beware  the  gypsy  doom!" 

And  when  the  sun  went  down,  in  gloomy  shades, 
the  night  hid  from  sight  the  trampled,  blood  stained 
turf,  where  Bakunin's  heir  gave  up  his  wretched  life  to 
treachery  and  greed! 

In  a  wild  feast  at  midnight,  when  the  Romanies  were 
ten  leagues  away,  Etelka  whispered  as  her  supple  neck 
bent  under  a  flashing  necklace  of  the  stolen  gems,  and 
frantic  mirth  told  of  the  wine  madness,  "J  am  yours 
now,  for  he  lives  no  longer  and  you  have  avenged  me  on 
the  dog  who  led  him  away  T 

Vanishing  by  different  paths,  the  band  never 
reunited,  but  to  all  was  known  the  reign  far  and  wide 
of  Etelka,  as  the  dreaded  queen  of  her  feroctous 
gypsy  husband. 

To  human  eyes,  Carl  Stein  never  reappeared,  and 
later,  when  in  furtive  council,  the  surviv  ors  of  the 


THE    ANARCHIST  397 

Lausanne  congress  met  in  a  far  distant  city,  the  aged 
Davidoff  solemnly  said  to  two  survivors  of  the  great 
secret  executive,  "Our  brother  is  no  more!  By  some 
device  he  has  given  up  his  life!  Time  may  tell  us  if 
by  a  sudden  vengeance  of  government  agents  or  in  an 
unhappy  accident.  But  I  have  thrice  signalled  him 
to  every  department.  He  is  lost  to  the  face  of  the 
earth!"  Alone,  unmourned,  with  not  a  moment's 
warning,  the  restless,  warring  spirit  had  passed  beyond 
earth's  turmoil  to  the  dark  Lethe  of  the  Unseen!  The 
blow  had  fallen! 

The  apostle  of  Destruction  had  met  with  the  unmer 
ited  fate  meted  out  to  the  innocent  by  the  apostles  of 
his  own  deadly  creed! 

It  was  months  after  the  arrival  of  Lord  Beauford  at 
Vienna,  when  in  a  solitary  walk  through  one  of  the 
great  annual  fairs,  a  veiled  gypsy  woman  crossed  his 
path.  A  whisper  riveted  him  to  the  spot,  for  the 
tidings  were  of  import.  "Tell  the  beautiful  American 
that  the  villain  and  traitor  has  now  a  comrade  in  the 
grave!  The  wretch  who  helped  to  plot  her  ruin,  who 
was  her  false  friend,  died  the  death  that  Oborski  fled 
from  here  only  to  meet  beyond  the  ocean!  Give  her 
this!"  She  passed  and  was  quickly  lost  in  the  crowd. 

When  Evelyn  Maitland  saw  the  token,  she  bowed 
her  head  in  silent  prayer.  It  was  a  ring  which  she 
had  placed  on  the  gypsy  girl's  hand  in  the  days  at 
Munich!  The  Ventnor  days  were  red  letter  days  to 
her  friends.  Before  their  lives  divided,  again  to  mingle 
with  the  refluent  tide  of  human  existence,  Isabel 
Beauford  and  Evelyn  Maitland  agreed  in  heart  upon 
the  simple  truism  that  around  the  home,  the  purest 
feelings  of  mortals  cling  like  ivy  to  beloved  olden  walls, 
That  no  sudden  re-distribution  of  human  rights 


39$  THE    ANARCHIST 

and  duties   could   compensate    woman  for  the    loss  of 
the  delicious  individualism  of  tfte  marriage    tie,  based 
upon  religion,  custom,  and  the  evolution  of  social  wis 
dom.    Down  in  the  green  alleys  of  Ventnor,  England's 
now  rising  diplomat,  spoke   freely  as    he  walked  with 
his  American  friend.    "Maitland,   you  go  home  to  your 
own     theatre    of    duty    and    action.     You     may    bear 
renewed  hopes  in  your  bosom.      Anarchy  will  be  stayed 
by    the   solid    walls    of  the    Anglo- Germanic     element    of 
world.      The  Emperor    William  favors   a   general    Anglo- 
Germanic  union.  Conspiracy  and  anarchistic  madness  is 
either  Latin  or  Slavic.    But  in  their  sameness  of  family 
life,    literature,    laws     and    natural      spirit,    Germany, 
England   and    the    United    States    can    find    a    general 
ground    of    union.      Speculative    politics,  ideal    social 
constructions,  the  vain  throes  of  the  discontented  may 
convulse  the  world,  but  it  is  in  the  sympathetic  union 
of    three    great    Anglo- Gennanic   peoples     that    stability 
will  be  found.      The  right  of    society  to    organize   and 
protect  itself  is  an  axiom,  and  can  not  be  howled  down! 
As  for  the  rule   of   the    fanatic    dynamiter,     concerted 
measures  of  the  governments  threatened  will  crush  the 
knots  of  would-be  murderers.    Public  morality    is  public 
health,  and  no  better    plans    of  human  concerted  action 
have  been  devised  than  a  regulated  individualism  seek 
ing    a    gradual    betterment    in    station,    culture,    and 
enjoyment.   That  the  industrious  and  useful  shall  live 
in  terror  of  the  vicious  and    reactionary    would    be   a 
colossal  cowardice.   Society  can  and  will  protect  itself. 
Ravachol,  Vaillant,  Fauch,  Henry,  Bourdin   and  their 
followers  will  lie  forgotten    in  felon   graves   like  their 
mad  prototypes,  Wilkes  Booth,  Guiteau  and  Prender- 
gast.      'Their    blood   be    upon    their     own     heads!'      As 
for  anarchistic  clubs  and  circles,  the  constituted  author- 


THE    ANARCHIST  399 

ities  of  the  world  will  ferret  them  out  and  destroy 
them !  Anarchism  has  no  creed  which  gains  even  the 
monetary  support  of  a  rational  mind.  Go  back  to 
your  Western  home  in  peace!  Your  country  does  not 
need  great  men,  save  in  its  times  of  crisis!  It  needs 
only  the  good  and  wise!  That  overruling  Provi 
dence  which  gave  you  a  Washington,  a  Hamil 
ton,  a  Jefferson,  and  brought  out  from  the  gloom 
of  your  civil  war  a  Lincoln  and  a  Grant,  will  raise 
up  for  you  men  of  the  hour,  who  will  lead  you  aright! 
Here  in  Europe,  with  its  discordant  peoples,  we  need 
men  who  tower  above  their  fellows.  They  labor  now 
for  peace  and  order.  We  have  on  our  side  Gladstone, 
the  veteran  Bismark,  and  Pope  Leo  XIIJ.,  the  three  great 
est  men  of  the  day.  It  is  true  the  real  leaders  of  anar 
chism  have  not  yet  been  detected.  The  blind  assas 
sins,  chosen  by  lot,  are  mere  tools.  But  when  these 
veiled  Prophets  are  forced  to  drop  the  mask,  their 
power  departs,  for  humanity  stands  aghast  at  self- 
destruction.  For  my  part,  I  doubt  not  through  the 
ages,  one  increasing  purpose  runs — the  coming  of  the 
peaceful  'Brotherhood  of  Man!*" 

Their  hands  met  in    the  pledge    of  this  faith    as    they 
entered  the  doors  of  the  stately  English  home. 


THE   END 


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